Humanity

by Edward James Bowman

  * * *

  “Méiyǒu,” Koris said when Flick emerged from his bedroom. “Flicka-roo, throw on that nice hunter green blazer you own as well.”

  The young man looked down at his garments with confusion. He was already wearing a puffy shirt and black vest. With a slight look of annoyance on his face, he stepped back into his room.

  Koris bit his lip. He did not want people to be giving poor Flick strange looks that night. Hopefully nobody would be able to make out his strange skeletal structure underneath all that clothing.

  Flick appeared in the doorway again, buttoning up his blazer. Much better, Koris thought.

  “Are nǐ, err, you sure you want to come to the party?”

  “Yes,” Flick replied in an exasperated tone. He could not understand why Koris was acting so strange about him attending the party.

  Young caught his wife’s eye from across the room as she did her work at the dining room table. Her gaze told him to calm down and stop worrying about what people would think of Flick. He found that a little difficult because at this party, Lysander would be nit-picking every single fault their family had.

  “Bye Mel,” Koris called out from the archway into the garage. When there was no reply he looked to Andromeda for answers.

  “Tā and Prince have already left,” she said calmly even though the thought of Melody with Princeton made Koris grit his teeth.

  “Where have tāmen gone?” Koris asked as calmly as he could.

  Andromeda shrugged. She had no clue. That didn’t reassure Koris, but he asked no more questions. He just had to tell himself that Melody was a smart young girl who could handle herself… it was Prince he worried about.

  “Have fun,” Andromeda said in a distracted voice as she skimmed through her messages on her electronic glasses. She was already back in ‘work mode’.

  “Bye!” Flick said before bounding down the steps and into the garage. Koris followed behind at a calmer rate with a small serious frown on his face – he was not looking forward to the party.

  “Let’s try not to be to conspicuous tonight, okay?” Koris said to Flick as their shuttle hovered inside the city border tunnel. There were a bunch of shuttles in line for the border security drive-thru. Apparently Lysander had invited half of Manticore Metropolis to his festivity.

  Koris glanced at the younger man, his wide eyes intrigued him.

  “Something wrong?”

  Flick shook his head. “Nah… I’va just never gone–”

  “I’ve just,” Koris iterated. “Continue.”

  “I’ve just never gone past the city border. Have you?”

  “Not on many occasions,” Koris admitted. “There’s no real reason to.”

  “But you’va,” the boy quickly corrected himself, “you’ve been to one of the moon thingies up there,” he said with a cock of his head to show he was talking about the sky on the other side of the tunnel roof.

  “It’s not that great up there,” he reassured the young man.

  “It ain’t that great down here.”

  “Touché.”

  Koris checked the time in the corner of the monitor. The party had started five minutes ago.

  “Dear God this is taking forever isn’t it?” he sighed in frustration while gesturing to the line in shuttles in front of them. Only a second later did he bite his tongue.

  The boy looked confused. “Who?”

  “Who what?”

  “Did ya just say ‘dear Ghoad’?”

  “No,” Koris shook his head, “I said dear God. G-O-D. I was cursing.”

  He was little embarrassed. It was not often that he cursed. Politicians were judged severely if they ever cursed, but when Koris was stressed he tended to let a curse or two slip out.

  “Who’s God?”

  “Really depends on the context. When I think of God I think of the Christian one. He was believed to have been an overlord and the people of Old Earth thought he lived in the clouds and when humans died, if they had been good, their souls would go up to him in…”

  There was no point trying to explain a religion to Flick and his look of utter confusion he told Koris that. The boy had no context so such an abstract concept. Most people on Manticore would have no idea what Koris talking about unless that had taken religious studies in school like he had. And even then, Koris’ own knowledge of Christianity was minimal.

  “Never mind,” he reassured the bewildered boy.

  “What’s a soul thingy?” Flick asked after a brief silence.

  “Err… It’s your línghún… Your spirit.” That did not make it any easier for Flick to understand. “It’s who you are, but not including your body. It can’t be seen, it can’t be proven to exist, but it is a nice thought.”

  “Like ghosty thingies on the screen?”

  “Yes.”

  Flick nodded. He understood now.

  “So if the God guy takes the good souls what happened to the bad ones?”

  “Christians believed in this place called hell which was a fiery underground realm. When a bad soul went there they suffered eternal torture. I guy called the Satan controlled hell.”

  Koris stopped talking when the shuttle in front of them inched forward, but then stopped again. False alarm, he thought.

  “What was the Satan guy like?” Flick asked, making Koris feel liking he was giving a lesson on Old Earth religion.

  “I think he’s basically the exact opposite of God. Evil in every way… Though back then people had a different perception of what evil was.”

  “So he was the evilest thing ever and God was the nicest thing ever?”

  Koris nodded, although he was not exactly sure if he would have called God ‘nice’.

  “So if the Devil was really evil, wouldn’t the evilest thing he could do would be to make-up God, make everybody think that God was real and that good people got to go to a great death, but then trick everyone and torture their soul thingies when they reached hell even if they had been really nice people?”

  Young could not help but raise an eyebrow. “That would be pretty evil, but I doubt the Christians made-up a religion with that kind of twist.”

  It was no surprise that Flick would have such unpleasant suspicions about things of a spiritual nature. Although Koris could never be sure, he presumed that the little story Flick had just made up mirrored a traumatic incident in his childhood that crushed his fragile little soul. The young man seemed to know a great deal about what it was like to have a false sense of security.

  Flick’s jaw dropped as he looked at the monitor and saw Jordanis’ estate. And he had thought that their apartment had been ample!

  “Lóng de Cháoxué,” Koris said casually.

  “Eh?”

  “The Dragon’s Lair. That’s the name of the estate.”

  “Oh,” Flick nodded along. “Is that because Lysander’s in the House of Dragons thingy?”

  If Flick had been anyone else, Young would have been sarcastic because the answer was quite obvious, but Flick was Flick, and so Koris simply nodded.

  Now the young man looked a little more anxious. He would not fit in at the party, he was sure of it. Seeing this, Koris smiled pleasantly and squeezed his bony shoulder.

  “You’re going to be fine.”

  “I’m sorry for the future if I embarrass ya.”

  Koris laughed even though Flick wasn’t joking.

  The pair met Nikhita Kothari in the hallway that lead to the grand hall. She had been as late as they had. Again, Flick’s jaw dropped when he saw Nikhita.

  “I see you want to be noticed tonight,” Koris joked before bopping Flick under the chin so that he would shut his mouth.

  Smiling beguilingly, she twirled around to make her purple dress and transparent sari fly. Her gown had an Old Earth Indian-style design… but possibly her dress showed far more skin than a typical Indian garmet would. The back of her dress was low enough that the start of her Indian-influenced lower tattoo could be seen. She was certainly
getting plenty of looks. Some of them were in awe, others were in envy.

  “I’m single,” she said haughtily, “so I figured this style would get me a dance partner.”

  “You’re brown all over,” Flick whispered, not taking his eyes off her rather exposed chest. He had always thought she was one of those girls who gotten a fake tan and that her skin transitioned to paler.

  “Flick!” Koris hissed, but Nikhita just laughed. She was very used to that reaction.

  “I get that a lot… and I’m never sure whether or not I should be flattered or offended.”

  “It’s a racist statement,” he said, eyeballing Flick as a telling-off.

  “Funny thing is, back on Old Earth, compared to other Indians, I’m pretty pale.”

  Koris simply raised his hand and pulled back the sleeve of his robe and shirt just to remind her how pale he was in comparison to her.

  “Yeah,” she laughed, “I think we could all do with some time in the Sun… the Old Earth Sun, not the Jhard.”

  The trio walked together down the hallway. Many eyes watched them. Partly because of the fact Koris was wearing his House of Oxen robe in Dragon territory, and partly because of Nikhita.

  Right above the doors that lead into the grand hall was a great portrait of Lysander sitting down and his father, Preston, standing beside him with his hand on his shoulder. Looking up at it, Young assumed that the portrait had to have been painted – or designed to look painted – hundreds of years ago. There was something very youthful about Lysander’s appearance in that portrait. Naturally youthful. He couldn’t have been over thirty.

  Comparing Preston and Lysander, the two looked very different. Preston had dark brown hair, cold blue eyes, and a very masculine appearance. He really looked nothing like the slender blonde boy sitting below him, making Young think that the younger Jordanis had gotten his looks from his mother – whoever she was.

  “I’m not sure what’s larger,” Nikhita muttered so only Koris could hear, “the portrait or the Jordanis’ family ego.”

  It looked as if the three of them wouldn’t have been missed if they had skipped the party. The grand hall was full of people – mostly politicians – who were chatting, dancing and enjoying the canapés being served.

  The first servant that laid eyes on Nikhita nearly dropped his platter. His facial expression would suggest he was staring at the tear in the space time continuum instead of a woman with darker skin than his own.

  “And so it begins,” she muttered before picking a canapé off the terrified servant’s platter and taking a bite out of it.

  Koris stood behind her, unable to hold back a smirk before his face hardened again when Lysander emerged from the crowd.

  “Erik,” he said firmly. The servant’s head snapped up to make eye contact with his master. “Get back to work.”

  In an instant the servant hurried away looking petrified and cursing himself in his own language as he went. Lysander watched him go with narrowed eyes before returning his attention to Koris and Nikhita. “Sorry about that,” he said. “You know how downtowners are.”

  “It’s fine, really.” She waved away his apology. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

  Koris looked back to where Flick had originally been standing just to make sure he hadn’t been offended by Lysander’s downtowner comment, but the boy was gone.

  “Hey.” Erik spun around when somebody put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’ta worry about starin’ at Nikhita. I did too when I firsta saw her… and the second time as well.”

  Erik was a little surprised by Flick for two reasons. Firstly because of his unexpected high voice and also his downtowner-style talk.

  “Heh. Why woulda someone so měilì hé àn come to Màn tí kǎo when we’ra all so chǒu hé bái?”

  Flick stared blankly at the servant. Although they were both quite obviously from downtown, Erik was from the northern part where Mandarin fused with English to make a broken hybrid language while Flick was from the southern part where English was the primary language.

  “Eh?” Flick asked.

  Both young men looked to the side when Koris appeared out of the crowd with an anxious expression on his face. Seeing him, Erik turned away and continued to serve food to the guests.

  “Don’t just run off,” Young warned. “Not here, not at this party.”

  “I was just being nice to the downtowna,” Flick muttered.

  “But tonight I already have to keep one eye on Lysander, and then my other eye on Niki because she’s too friendly around Lysander,” he said while gesturing to Nikhita who was chuckling with Lysander, “and I’ve only got two eyes Flick. I can’t watch all three of you.”

  Maybe you should stop worrying about others and focus on yourself, Flick thought, but did not dare to say. Instead he followed behind Young back to where Lysander and Nikhita were chatting.

  “What are you two talking about?” Koris asked while trying to mask his actual curiosity with a friendly smile.

  “He was asking if he should compare me to a summer’s day,” Nikhita explained with a smile that told Koris that ‘she knew how to handle Lysander’s flirting’, “and I was telling him that I studied that sonnet back on Old Earth and therefore know that Shakespeare was addressing a man.”

  “And then I called her out for not accepting my extoling seeing as we live in a day and age where the gender originally intended as the subject of the sonnet does not define who can be the subject of it today,” Lysander said to finish her explanation.

  Koris resisted rolling his eyes. Lysander and Nikhita were always like this with each other. They enjoyed ‘playful bickering’. He was never sure if they were flirting or if they simply respected each other because they both had a great amount of knowledge about Old Earth.

  “Oh, by the way…” Lysander thought for a moment. “… Āpaṇa err… sundara disū.”

  “Your fractured Marathi is charming,” Nikhita said patronisingly, “but sadly that is not my first language.”

  Jordanis snarled.

  “Miss Kothari, you will be the cause of my insanity.”

  Cal slapped Erik on the back as he entered the kitchen with his empty platter. “You spoke to her!”

  “Uh huh,” he nodded along distractedly. His mind was on other things… like was Lysander going to fire him for staring at Nikhita?

  “What does tā sound like? Did she sound different?”

  “Bù very differ. Sounds just like an uptowna.” He collected the next full platter. “Wǒ think Lysanda ain’t happy with wǒ because I took a looky at her.”

  Cal laughed. “Gah, but tā canna fire ya without his Marky gettin’ boohoo now, can he?”

  Uh oh, both of them thought when they looked up and saw Mark standing there. He did not look hurt. He just smoothed back his blonde hair to calm himself.

  “Sorry Mark,” Erik said before patting his brother’s shoulder with his free hand. “We wera just jokin’.”

  “No prob,” he replied cheerfully, putting on his best smile that he usually put on in the presence of uptowners.

  “Have nǐ seen the Earthy?” Cal asked Mark to change the conversation.

  His eyes widened: “She’sa already here?”

  Cal nodded, and all three made their way towards the door. Cal and Mark went to the door to have a peek at Nikhita while Erik was actually going back into the grand hall to continue serving canapés. However, the boy was going to try and avoid Lysander now that he was on the man’s bad side.

  “Wa,” both downtowners gasped after they scanned the grand hall with their eyes and saw the Earthling. Nikhita was not very hard to spot in the crowd of sickly pale people.

  “She’sa so lucky,” Cal hissed in envy.

  Both of them pulled back out of the doorway once they had gotten a good look at her. After all, they didn’t want to get in trouble like Erik had.

  “Wǒ bet Lysander has already made plans to knock tā de,” Mark joked. He thought that if he made jokes about
Lysander’s sexual escapades with others then people would not suspect that he had such a crush on the man – that technique didn’t fool his close friends.

  The little bit of colour in Cal’s face drained. She knew that Lysander had other plans that night.

  “Did ya hear what wǒ and Lysanda were talkin’ about before the party started?” she asked cautiously just to see if Mark knew as well.

  “No.” He shook his head. “Wǒ wasa not even aware that ya guys had talked.”

  Liar, Cal thought. She had seen him look up when Lysander had gotten close to her. Poor Mark thought he was more inconspicuous than he really was.

  “What did ya talk about?” he asked in a distracted voice as he thought about Nikhita.

  “Nothin’,” Cal said. “Neva mind.”

  Flick stood awkwardly alone by the buffet tables. Koris had been dragged away by a reporter for some questioning which he could not turn-down because he needed some good publicity out of his attendance at Jordanis’ party. Nikhita was off dancing with some unimportant politician, acting like a peacock has she flaunted her appearance.

  Koris had promised Flick he would be back in a moment and that it was best for the boy to stay put and keep quiet and Flick did exactly as he was told. He was too afraid to talk to anyone anyways.

  He had wanted to come, but now he felt as if he was in over his head. The people around him were all uptowners with important jobs, high IQs and all of them had the ability to read at lightning speed as their jobs required it. Then there was Flick: a jobless downtowner with lower than average IQ and dyslexia.

  The young man didn’t want to ask Koris if they could go home seeing as he had insisted on coming in the first place.

  Don’t have a panic attack, Flick thought when he found himself paranoid about people glaring at him with judgemental eyes. Don’t you dare!

  That is exactly when all noise seemed to stop reaching his ears except for one sound. He turned his head slightly to look at the buffet table. The chef was standing behind it cutting up some sort salami. Flick listened as the sharp knife sliced each new piece of meat. His heart raced as the knife glinted in the light, emphasising the dark juice that lathered it.

  “Flick,” a hand was put on his shoulder. “You okay?”

  The young man snapped his head away from the buffet scene. For a moment he saw the face of a monster and quickly jumped away. Another second later he saw that it was actually Koris, but it did not matter – he was already panicking.

  “Flick?” Koris said in a more strained tone as the boy ran through the crowd.

  Striding after Flick, he tried to ignore all the odd looks he was getting from people. They did not concern him when Flick was having an anxiety attack.

  Out the corner of his eye he saw Jordanis observing the situation impassively, with a cigarette in his mouth. He had been poking around for something to use against Koris in the campaign and it was possible that he had just found something. After all, how could Koris bring a mentally unstable young man to his party?

  Young nearly lost Flick when he turned the corner in the hallway, but then he saw a door slam and made the assumption it was the panicking boy. Putting his ear against the bathroom door, he heard the sobbing and feverish breathing. He put his hand on the doorknob and tried to gently push the door open but accidentally hit something. Judging by Flick’s sniffle, he had accidentally hit the boy in the back.

  “Sorry,” Koris said as the boy scurried out of the way and he slid in.

  Flick sat with his knees pulled toward his chest and backed-up against the bath. Koris came down to his level by kneeling on one knee beside the boy.

  “You’re fine, it’s okay,” he repeated over and over again as he rocked the trembling boy back and forth. “You’re safe, it’s okay.”

  They sat there like that for just under five minutes. Flick’s attacks could last between ten minutes and an hour. The only time it had lasted two hours was when he was fifteen and another teenager in his remedial art class attacked him with a pair of safety scissors. Koris remembered how heart-breaking it was to find the boy quivering in his hiding spot in the cabinet underneath the art room sink. How could one child have so much fear?

  “Err ya mar?” the young man said in a muffled voice.

  “Pardon?” Koris had to ask.

  Flick looked up: “A-are ya mad?”

  Young pulled the boy closer and kissed him on the top of his head. “No, of course not.”

  “I’ma sorry.”

  “Shh, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

  Flick nodded even though he didn’t believe that. All those fancy people out there would be judging him and Koris.

  “Y-ya should go back to the party thingy,” he said.

  Koris shook his head. “No, the party isn’t important.”

  “But I kinda want to be alone for a little while.”

  “Oh,” he said while nodding in understanding. “Are you sure? I can stay if you want.”

  “Nah. I’ll be okay. I… I just need to have a moment.”

  Young was still hesitant. He did not feel right leaving Flick alone when he was like this.

  “It’s okay,” Flick reassured him.

  “I’ll check on you again in fifteen minutes, or just message me if you want me to come back. That sound good?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Don’t lock the door.”

  Flick nodded even though he did not understand why he wasn’t supposed to lock the door. The truth was that Koris was always worried that the young man would harm himself had these attacks and if that happened, Koris wanted to be able to get in the bathroom to stop him. Flick had never had any signs to prove he was suicidal, but he was, without a doubt, self-loathing. On many occasions he had seen the boy standing in front of the bathroom mirror in their apartment glaring at himself hatefully. It never escalated above glaring, yet the way he looked at himself always made Koris anxious.

  “Everything okay?” Nikhita asked when Koris re-joined the party. She had seen Flick go running with Young chasing after him. “Is Flick alright?”

  “Yeah, he’s just worked-up. He wanted me to give him some space.”

  She had a sympathetic expression even though she was not surprised.

  “Where is he now?” she asked.

  “In one of this place’s many bathrooms.”

  She put a hand on his shoulder. “C’mon, let us go embarrass ourselves by dancing like buffoons.”

  “I don’t feel like dancing,” he said in a grim tone.

  “Well… I could always dance with Lord Jordanis.”

  He glared at Nikhita. She could be very malevolent when she wanted to be. It was very obvious to her that he feared that she would reveal important information to Lysander if he did not keep an eye on her.

  “Fine,” he sighed dramatically. “But only for fifteen minutes.”

  Nikhita cackled. She loved annoying Koris with the little things.

  “What happened to your last dance partner?” he asked when she hooked herself to his arm and dragged him to the dance floor. The other dancers gave them odd looks not only because of Nikhita’s dark skin, but because of the House of Oxen robe Koris wore.

  “I dropped him halfway through a song seeing as his eyes were glued to my chest.

  “Well… you did wear that,” he said, gesturing to her dress.

  She scoffed. “Yes, but I thought it was safe to dance with him because he’s here with his husband.”

  “Are they the couple that are bickering in the corner?”

  Nikhita looked back. Sure enough, they were.

  “Uh oh.” She swallowed. “I hope I’m not a home wrecker.”

  Flick took his head out of his knees when there was a knock at the door. He had not kept track of time during his anxiety attack, but surely fifteen minutes hadn’t passed already.

  “C-come in,” he stammered, presuming it was Koris on the other side of the door.

  He was startled when a blond
man popped his head through the door.

  “Gah!” he squeaked.

  Flick stood up and tried to move backwards but his foot got stuck on the wall of the bath and he fell backwards into the tub.

  Lysander cursed under his breath before stepping fully through the door and locking it behind him. Flick accepted the help out of the bathtub even though he was embarrassed. Lysander had a very soft, yet emotionless expression. He felt pity for the quivering young man with the tear-stained face.

  Patting the sink counter, he gestured for the boy to sit up on it instead of the ground or on the toilet that had no lid. Flick complied, but kept his head low.

  Jordanis used his free hand – while his other hand toyed with the cigarette in its fingers – to gesture for Flick to do a breathing exercise. The young man fallowed his actions with both hands instead of one. To his own surprise, his breathing became slower paced which was an improvement from his previous hyperventilating.

  “Try this,” Lysander said while holding out his cigarette. “It will help.”

  Flick shook his head, but Lysander was persistent and he soon gave in. He had only inhaled a small amount before he started coughing frantically, there was orange smoke everywhere.

  Lysander chuckled. “I had that reaction to it the first time as well,” he joked before throwing the cigarette in the waste basket next to the sink counter.

  To someone like Lord Jordanis, who had been inhaling the orange smoke for centuries, the substance acted as soother of the mind, but for an inexperienced tester like Flick it acted as euphoria-inducer.

  “Now,” Lysander began once the boy seemed calmer, “tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Don’t worry,” Flick whispered, he could not speak any louder without unleashing more tears and breathing rapidly again.

  “I do worry. There’s a young man crying in my bathroom at my birthday party.” His smile faded when the boy made eye contact with him and he put on his sympathetic face again. “What’s wrong?” he inquired while gently embracing Flick. “You can tell me.”

  The young man was not sure why he was so comfortable in this man’s arms while sitting on a bathroom sink counter. The soft tone Lysander had certainly helped soothe him.

  “I… I don’ta know,” Flick admitted. “I just got scared.”

  Past event haunting him, Lysander thought.

  “You have nothing to be scared of,” he whispered in the young man’s ear beguilingly. “This is a safe estate. Nobody here wants to hurt you.”

  Flick nodded frantically. “I know. I know,” he said in an unexpectedly high voice that startled Lysander.

  Looking into his eyes, Lysander doubted the boy actually believed him.

  “Child, what could have happened that made you so fearful in life?” he said as more of an out loud thought than a question.

  Flick started crying again. He was so worked-up that even one odd look from someone would set him off.

  “Shh,” Lysander whispered before kissing the young man’s cheek. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  Slowly, and very cautiously, he worked his way down young man’s body. Flick did not seem opposed to his lips on his skin. In fact, he leaned his head back to allow Jordanis more access to his neck. He was curious to see what it was like to be kissed by another person even if that person was the candidate from the rival party. Since he had lived with Koris, he had not had any intimate moments with anyone. He was experimenting.

  Now comes the tricky part, Lysander thought when he was halted by a puffy white shirt, black vest and hunter green blazer. He could hear the boy still snivelling and trying to hold back actual sobs. If he went too quick or was too harsh he would scare the fragile man and he didn’t want that. No, when would he ever get a chance to knock Koris’ boy again?

  Flick held his breath as Lysander slowly pulled the blazer off his shoulders and down his arms.

  “Let’s get that blazer off you,” he murmured. “It’s a very warm night.”

  How far would this experiment go and what would happen if they went too far? Flick was afraid of showing his body. All he could think about was the judgement he would get from Lysander. What would happen if Lysander told everyone about how hideous he was?

  Lysander stopped unbuttoning the vest when he heard the boy’s sudden increase in breathing. He was becoming anxious again. He moved back up and kissed Flick on the lips this time, surprising the young man.

  “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you,” he reassured him. He presumed that was why the boy was scared.

  He removed the vest with less hesitation and began on the white shirt. Flick closed his teary eyes and looked away making Lysander cock his head in curiosity. Was this such a good idea?

  Button by button, more of Flick’s chest was revealed. Lysander did not react to the boy’s bulging rib cage that sucked in his stomach. He knew even cocking in eyebrow in curiosity would set Flick off. He instead continued his journey with his lips down his chest while his hands roamed the young man’s back.

  Interesting, he thought as he traced Flick’s bulging spine. Either this boy is malnourished or something else is wrong.

  Kissing the boy’s stomach, he listened to the boy’s breathing to see what kind of result he was getting for doing this. To his surprise, the boy’s breath was now incredibly slow and calm. He would expect the boy to be taking short rapid breaths by now if he was turned-on.

  At least he’s not panicking.

  His hands moved down from Flick’s chest to his thighs. He quickly moved all the way down to push the boys shoes off before moving back up. While massaging the boy’s lanky legs through his black pants, Lysander moved his head back up to Flick’s neck and started kissing him there again as he had seemed to enjoy it before. He wanted the boy to be distracted by the sensation on his neck while he undid his pants. However, the boy did notice and began to panic again.

  “Relax,” Lord Jordanis hushed.

  Once the young man had seemed to calm down, Lysander put his thumbs in the waistband of the boy’s underwear and gently pulled both his underwear and pants down simultaneously. Jordanis figured it was best to do it this way because if the process was drawn out too long, Flick would most likely build up too much anxiety and start panicking again.

  Hesitantly, Flick helped Lysander the slightest bit by lifting himself off the sink counter for a moment to allow his garments to be pulled off. He expected that once Lysander saw, he would stagger back and start gagging before running out the door and telling everyone.

  No, that was not his reaction at all. He just took a step back to examine the boy as a whole with an impassive expression. The final piece of the puzzle was put into place.

  He was castrated before puberty, Lysander noted. That is why his body never developed properly. His bone growth went insane. That also explains the high voice. He took a closer look at the boy’s midsection. This penis obviously wasn’t originally his. The scars around the base make that clear. It only serves no sexual purpose. This man has no sex-drive, that’s for sure.

  Flick felt like he was having an examination at the doctor’s office the way he sat naked on a white counter while a figure of authority inspected him with his passionless eyes. Somehow Lysander’s silent judgement was worse than if he had just acted disgusted. Flick sniffed once before he found himself bawling again. He should not have done this. He shouldn’t have made himself this vulnerable to a man he hardly knew.

  “No, no, no, no,” Lysander hugged the boy again, kissing his cheek. “Don’t cry. It’s okay.”

  Oh dear child. You poor wretched soul bruised with adversity. On the other hand; he must have a lovely singing voice.

  “It’s not okay!” Flick snivelled. “Look at me!”

  There was nothing Lysander could say that would assure the fragile young man in front of him, so he said nothing.

  He decided that for this situation he was going to keep his own pants zipped-up. There was no point trying to have sex
with a man who had no sex-drive. Instead, he would stick to simple kissing. Flick would like that.

  “You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he said before kissing the boy’s temple.

  “I look like a monster thingy or a sve-svellik.”

  “No, no you don’t. You look beautiful.”

  “But I don’ta look like other people.”

  Lysander smiled. “You’re unique.”

  “But I don’t wanna look different to other people,” Flick sobbed.

  “Nikhita’s unique and everybody adores her for looking different. Being different is quite a positive thing on Manticore.”

  Flick didn’t believe that. He was smart enough to know Lysander was just being generous with his compliments, but it was still a nice thing to hear.

  Young tries to hide this boy’s body with layers of clothing, Jordanis noted. And when a fatherly figure like Young tells this boy to cover-up, it further fuels Flick’s lack of confidence about his appearance.

  “Don’t let anyone judge how you look,” he said with a sincere smile.

  Flick gasped when Lysander kissed his way back to his chest and started on his right areola. The smoke he had inhaled earlier was kicking-in and he suddenly found himself in a very joyful mood. He was not sexually-driven, but being this close to another human felt great.

  After a quick dance with Nikhita, Koris went out to the hallway where the bathroom Flick was in was, but he did not go straight to see Flick. Instead, he messaged Andromeda about the situation. She got back to him within in the minute.

  Sun: Is Flick okay?

  Young: For the most part. He got a little worked-up because the party overwhelmed him. Now he’s in a bathroom calming down.

  Sun: Are you going to come home once he’s calmed down a bit?

  Young: Most likely, I doubt Lord Jordanis will miss us.

  Even though this was a private messenger, Koris always tried to address people properly and never insult anyone he talked about. There was always a chance journalists or news companies would try to hack into his messages and if that happened he didn’t want them to find any golden material to work with. Especially now that he was running for zhǔxí there was a good chance that Lysander or somebody that worked for him would hack his messages. Koris was always paranoid about the public’s perception of him and for good reason.

  He waited a minute but Andromeda didn’t send him another message. She was not the kind of person who tied-up a conversation.

  Once he realised she was probably not going to message him anymore, he decided to finally go and check up on Flick. He was five minutes later than he said he would be, but what difference would five minutes make?

  He cocked an eyebrow when he found that the door was locked.

  “Occupied,” a man smirked from the inside the bathroom when he knocked. Judging by the low, yet cocky voice he presumed it was Lord Jordanis.

  At first he thought that he had come to the wrong bathroom, or maybe Flick had left and he was somewhere else… Maybe he shouldn’t have worried so much about Nikhita being around Lysander and fretted Flick being with Lysander more.

  He went silent as to pretend he had left before pressing his ear against the door. He did not want to be nosey, but he did not want Flick to be locked in a bathroom with Lysander. That boy vulnerable both physically and mentally and Lysander could destroy him in seconds if he wanted.

  “Get dressed. I believe Lord Young has returned,” Lysander murmured.

  There was a shrill gasp from the other person in the room. And the sound of shuffling as they hastily got dressed.

  So Flick is in there too. Fuck!

  “And I also believe your dear guardian is being nosey and standing right outside the door.”

  Young opened his mouth to bark at Jordanis, but then he realised he would scare Flick if he did that. He took a moment to breath and regain his posture before he spoke: “Are you both decent? I need to see Flick.”

  He was surprised when the door opened abruptly and Lysander slid out before closing it again. He didn’t look like he had hastily put on his clothing. Had he actually had sex with Flick or was he just in there to worry Koris?

  Then Young remembered what his wife had told him a while ago after they had been discussing Princeton’s relationship with Melody: “The man only ever undoes his pant zipper. He never removes any of his own clothing, but he prefers his sexual partners to be stark naked. He’s a weird guy. Wǒ think tā associates nudity with vulnerability or something.”

  Koris exhaled loudly at the thought. I swear if he took advantage of Flick then nothing will stop me from pounding Lysander’s face in.

  “I must be getting back to the party,” Lysander said, not trying to hide his smug smile. Everything he did was to get at Koris. “We’re having speeches soon.”

  Koris bit his lip and nodded. If he tried to speak his voice would be aggressive. Jordanis noticed this and raised an eyebrow.

  “Goodbye Flick,” he said while maintaining eye contact with Koris.

  There was no reply. Flick was probably too terrified to answer because his guardian was there.

  “What have you done?” Koris hissed quietly so the young man would not hear.

  Lysander dug his hand into his pocket in search of a cigarette. “Something you’ve never done for Flick.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Made him feel good about his body.”

  Before Koris could object, the man was already striding away. He felt it would be childish to yell something after the cocky man and so remained silent.

  He looked to the bathroom when he heard the door open. Flick stood there looking meek. His eyes and cheeks were read suggesting he had been crying. Young prayed that Jordanis had not made the fragile boy cry more.

  “Hāi,” he said in his most patient tone.

  The boy didn’t say anything. He just awkwardly buttoned-up his blazer. Obviously, he had gotten dressed in haste. His dress shirt was untucked and his fly was unbuttoned.

  “We’re leaving,” Koris informed him.

  The young man nodded, his head hung low.

  “Why are you going?” Nikhita asked as they walked towards the shuttle parking lot. “We’ve been here less than an hour.”

  “Nǐ can stay,” Koris assured her, “but wǒ think it’s better if Flick and I go home.”

  She glanced at Flick and presumed they were going home because the boy was melting down, but if that was the case than why was Koris’ voice so harsh?

  “What has Lysander done?” she inquired.

  Koris shook his head to inform her that it was better not to ask him at that moment.

  “Oh,” she nodded slowly in understanding. “Well I’m going to stick around for a while. It would be strange if all three House of Oxen representatives left at the same time.”

  “Understood.”

  Without another word he stepped into his shuttle. Flick followed behind at a leisure pace.

  “Zàijiàn, Flick,” Nikhita said in a sympathetic tone. He glanced back at her and nodded before the shuttle door closed behind him.

  “Are ya mad at me?” the boy finally asked. A great portion of the shuttle trip had been in painful silence.

  “No,” Koris said without making eye contact. “I’m mad at Lord Jordanis.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can’t believe he had the nerve to go as far as taking sexual advantage of you just to get at me.”

  “He didn’t ta–”

  “Yes he did, you just don’t know that he did because he’s clever when it comes to concealing his true intentions.”

  “Koris,” Flick’s high voice cracked, “I know what it’s like to be sexually abused and taken advantage of, don’t ever tell me I don’t. And Lysander didn’t do that thingy to me.”

  Young was surprised by the seriousness and aggression in Flick’s tone. The boy had never talked back to him like that before.

  This is Lysander’s doing, he speculated.<
br />
  “I’d like to believe you Flick, I really would, but you don’t seem to understand how Lysander works. He did not come across you in the bathroom on accident or wish to see if you were alright. No, he had ulterior motives. He’s trying to crack our family to find some dirt he can use against me during the debates or for his campaign. You’re just ammunition to him.”

  Flick looked hurt, but it was true. Koris had already gotten hit with Lysander’s comment about how he was apparently fuelling Flick’s bad body image. Koris doubted that would be the last time he would be hit with a remark about Flick. Lysander had only been intimate with the boy for a few minutes, but if he had seen Flick below the waist then he would have a few more remarks to stab Koris with hidden up his sleeve.

  “The weird thing is,” Koris glanced at the boy who seemed surprisingly light-spirited – little did he know it was the cigarette’s doing, “it was nice and all, but I don’t, err, think I’ll do it again,” Flick said quietly.

  Lord Young cocked an eyebrow, urging the boy to explain.

  “I just don’t think it’s my kind of thingy. I know I don’t get to enjoy things like other people do and that’s annoying.”

  “It’s good you know that about yourself,” was all Koris could think to say.

  There was another silence, but not a painful one like the previous one.

  “So,” Koris began cautiously, “does Lord Jordanis… know?”

  Flick looked down before nodding.

  “That’s okay,” he reassured him. “I just want you to be prepared.”

  “For what?”

  “For Lysander to tell the public.”

  The young man’s eyes widened. “He wouldn’t do that!”

  “Lysander plays dirty.”

  “But what does that have to do you or any political thingies?”

  “Nothing, but he’ll weave it into our debate somehow.”

  He may even weave in the fact he ‘knocked’ you.

  Lady Sun looked surprised to see the pair home so early. She knew very well that Lysander’s parties never ended early.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Lord Young watched Flick stride into his room and close the door before he turned to Andromeda. “Lysander seduced Flick when tā was at his most vulnerable and was… intimate with him,” he hissed so that the young man could not hear.

  Andromeda’s eyes widened, although a part of her was not surprised.

  “Is Flick hǎo ma?” she asked.

  Koris nodded. “Wǒ think so. Tā’s probably more worried about wǒ being mad at him than he is about Lysander taking sexual advantage of him.”

  “How far did Lord Jordanis get with tā?”

  “Not sure. Not very far seeing as wǒ was only gone for mere minutes.” He scoped the room, surprised that Melody had not made a sound since he got home. “Mel zài nǎlǐ?”

  “She’s still out with Prince,” Andromeda said casually.

  He snarled. After tonight, he didn’t want any in his family near the Jordanis’.

  “Nǐ know what tāmen are up to tonight?”

  She shrugged. “From what wǒ know: tāmen went out bungee jumping or something like that.”

  Koris’ eyes widened. He had no idea what bungee jumping was, but he presumed it was not something he wouldn’t approve of.

  “Nà shì shénme?”

  Andromeda laughed when she heard the anxiety in his tone. “Relax. Bungee jumping is when nǐ jump off a skyway with an elastic cord attached to your feet.”

  He was not reassured whatsoever.

  “Beg your pardon?” he asked in a pitched tone.

  Why are both of my children acting insanely?

  “It’s not a dangerous activity. Everybody does it when tāmen are young. Wǒ certainly did it.”

  He shook his head in disbelief. “What if the cord snaps? What if a downtowner shoots tāmen from below?”

  “What if the world explodes?” Andromeda said sarcastically. “Did nǐ consider that?”

  “Tā said tāmen were going to the cinema,” he grumbled.

  Andromeda shrugged. She knew Melody had only said that because Koris wouldn’t let her leave the house otherwise.

  “Tā also told nǐ she was still a virgin.”

  Koris gave his wife a horrified look before shaking his head. He couldn’t deal with that tonight.

  “Wǒ going to go to bed,” he growled. “Wǎn'ān.”

  Andromeda watched him storm into the bedroom like an angst-filled teenager. He’s young, she thought. He’s usually good at suppressing his youth, but not when he’s stressed or mad.

  She presumed he was acting this way not just because of Flick and Melody’s actions. It had only been a few days and yet he was already running out of time to promote himself for his campaign.

  Flick was already in his pyjamas by the time Andromeda stepped into his room. After everything that had happened that night he figured it was best to go straight to bed instead of wandering around the apartment.

  His room was small, around the size of a walk-in closet and it very well might have been in the time that svellik were the dominant race on Manticore. However, more space was created when both the single beds in his room were folded into the wall. It was only at night when he had one of the beds out that it felt claustrophobic, but he liked it that way as he felt comfortable in small spaces.

  “Hāi,” Andromeda said instinctively before she remembered that Flick’s Mandarin was poor. “You okay?”

  The young man nodded despite his solemn his face.

  “He’s not mad at you, just stressed,” she explained as she took a seat at the foot of his bed.

  He brought his knees up to his chest while lying down on the thin mattress. He never slept with a thin silk blanket like everyone else in the household did. Partly because it was always too warm, and partly because he felt the blanket would turn into a net if he wanted to escape.

  “But I did stuff with the baddy,” he mumbled.

  “Lord Jordanis is not a baddy,” her eyes went to the plasma screen ceiling for a moment. “Well, actually he kind of is, but it doesn’t matter that you did ‘stuff’ with him providing he didn’t hurt you or take advantage of you.” She leaned a little closer. “Promise me he didn’t take advantage of you and everything will be fine.”

  He looked her in the eyes and nodded.

  “Then there’s nothing to worry about,” she said simply.

  The young man nodded again, although there was still a hint of fear in his eyes. This did not surprise Andromeda seeing Flick always had a hint of fear in him whenever he was in her presence.

  She got up to leave, but then stopped when she reached the door and turned to face Flick again.

  “Flick, where exactly did all this stuff occur?”

  “Lysander’s mansion thingy,” he said simply.

  “But where in Lysander’s mansion?”

  “A bathroom near his grand hall thingy.”

  Andromeda nodded, contemplating what that meant.

  “Goodnight,” she said in a distracted voice before shutting the door to his room on her way out.

  Flick was a little surprised by her abrupt departure, but was glad she left. Once she was gone, he snapped his fingers twice and the plasma screen ceiling turned on.

  She went into the garage which was the only place where she could talk without being heard. Putting on her glasses, she nodded her head to scroll through her contacts until she landed on Lord Lysander Jordanis. The contact photo that had been taken from his personal website and represented him perfectly: a group of half-naked youthful looking people suggestively dancing around him at one of his famous Spring Festival parties. With that kind of photo she wondered how he was even in the running for zhǔxí.

  “Nǐ shēngbìngle, nǐ zhīdào ma?” she growled when Lysander answered.

  The noise coming from Lysander’s side was very loud. Obviously a live band was playing.

  “Hello, who is this?” h
e yelled in English over the music and loudly laughing woman dancing next to him – Nikhita?

  “This is Lady Andromeda Sun and I believe we need to talk about you ‘knocking’ Flick,” she said in English, conforming to Lysander.

  “Hang on a sec,” he muttered to whoever was dancing with him before moving away from the noise.

  “So,” he began once he was in a quite spot out of the way of the party, “what are you calling me about?”

  “I know you, Lysander. Are there security cameras in your public bathrooms?”

  Lysander sighed before putting on his condescending tone: “Of course I have cameras in my public bathrooms. I have cameras everywhere so I can keep an eye on my servants.”

  “Is there a camera in the bathroom you and Flick had sex in?”

  “One: We did not have sex. Two: Yes, of course.”

  “Delete the footage,” she said firmly.

  Andromeda made the assumption that Lysander was smiling maniacally even though they were not having a visual call. “Now, why would I do that?”

  She bit her lip for a moment. “Because I don’t want you hurting Flick or my husband in any way. You love having leverage over people, but not Flick. You can’t do anything with that footage that will hurt that boy or I swear he will shatter.”

  Lord Lysander Jordanis was silent for a moment. “I’m aware of that,” he said after the pause. “Currently, I have no intent in using the footage or even mentioning that the even happened to anyone.”

  “Currently?” Andromeda inquired.

  “Yes.”

  “So your position on the matter could fluctuate?”

  “Listen, Andromeda: I like Flick. It is rare to meet such a sweet boy, let alone a sweet downtowner. I have no intent on bringing harm to him – especially not if your husband’s a good boy,” he said cruelly.

  Before Andromeda had time to rebut, he had hung up on her and returned to his party. She cursed him in Mandarin.

  As she entered the bedroom, she made the decision not to tell Koris. He had enough stress already and she had to make the safe assumption that Lysander’s words had been hollow. He wouldn’t really do anything with the footage of Flick… Would he?

  Koris was in bed, but not sleeping. Instead, he was working on his tablet. His scowl suggested he was deep in thought instead of focusing on his work.

  “Wǒmen have been invited for a pre-opening VIP tour of the Olympus United factory,” he said in a distracted tone.

  “Shì,” Andromeda said placidly as she undressed. “Wǒ got that message too. Are wǒmen going?”

  “Wǒ think Olympus United will be subject of debate in the near future so wǒ probably should.”

  “What makes nǐ think that?”

  He looked at her with a semi-annoyed look. “The factory clones these boys called ‘Olympians’ to serve the upper-class for only a one-off payment to Olympus United, not the Olympians. That’s slavery!”

  Andromeda nodded along but made no judgment calls about Olympus United seeing as she knew so little about it except for the fact that it was a company from the planet of Eden.

  Koris had not voted in favour of the permit to develop the factory in Manticore Metropolis five years back, but the vote was overall in favour of the factory and so the zhǔxí at the time, Lady Penelope Renard, gave Olympus United a permit. Andromeda remembered how annoyed Koris was at the time, but since then she had not heard much about Olympus United. The company had managed to remain in the shadows and out of the media’s eye.

  “Maybe nǐ will see the factory and realise it isn’t slavery.”

  Young’s nostrils flared. It was slavery and he knew it. He bet that he would go through the entire tour being forced to bite his tongue.

  He did not glance at his wife when she slid into bed next to him. In fact, he only realised that she was lying next to him when she pulled the thin silver covers her way.

  “Hǎo ma?” she asked curiously. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Méishénme,” he replied without making eye contact.

  Andromeda sighed. She hated when her husband was passive and pretended everything was fine even though she knew his brain was imploding.

  “Flicka-roo thinks nǐ are mad at tā,” she said after a long silence.

  “Wǒ bùshì.”

  “Then stop acting like nǐ are.”

  He opened his mouth to refute before closing it when he heard the door to the shuttle garage close – Melody was home.

  At least she made it back, he thought even though it did not make him feel any better.

  Andromeda heard Melody arrive home too, but ignored that fact. “What’s on your mind, chǒng'ér?” she asked in a sympathetic tone.

  Koris shrugged. He honestly didn’t know why he was in this mood. It was not just because of Flick and Lysander sexual encounter, there had to be something else. He would have presumed it was the election just beyond the horizon, however that had not been on his mind all night.

  “You still question if it was the right decision, don’t you?” Andromeda asked as if she had read his mind.

  He opened his mouth as if to question what she was talking about, but then closed it and turned away when he realised. Yes, he did still wonder if he had made the right decision about rescuing Flick all those years ago:

  The great star in the sky had just sunk below the orange peaks in the distance. The canyon Manticore Metropolis sat in suddenly became dark.

  Just in time, Lord Koris Young thought as he stepped out of the House of Oxen shuttle.

  “Zhǐyào kàn kàn zhège dìfāng.” Lady Magdalene Bijoux of the House of Dragons scoffed as she scoped the downtown area.

  There were two lords and one lady downtown. Each represented their house for the ‘Clean up Metropolis’ campaign which involved giving downtowners a more survivable environment to live in. Today, they were installing a public grey water tap in the downtown ‘city square’.

  All the Houses wanted to look good in the eyes of the public by having a representative attend, but they also did not want to risk sending a very important lord or lady from their House and risk losing them. That was why Lord Young, Lord Chopra and Lady Magdalene were attending instead of the older, more important lords and ladies.

  “I don’t like the looks we’re getting from the ‘locals’ here,” muttered the Chief of the House of Oxen security, Renaldo Davys. “We take one photo, and then we leave and let the plumbers do their work.”

  Koris nodded along, a little surprised that Renaldo chose to speak in English even though this was a formal event. He didn’t want to leave until all the plumbers and police officers left, but he would not object to Renaldo’s demand.

  To Koris, something felt wrong and it was not just because he was downtown. There was an eerie pitch to the wind as it passed between the buildings. Not a sound you would hear uptown, but judging by the looks on the downtowners’ faces in the square, they had all heard it too many times before.

  What is that sound? Koris pondered before Renaldo brought him back into reality with a slap on the shoulder.

  “Get in the photo,” the man grunted. They had only just gotten there and already Davys was sick of the place.

  Lord Young turned to head for where Lady Bijoux, Lord Chopra and some of the workers were standing to take the photo. Originally, some reporters were scheduled to be joining them, however their press companies then retracted them due to safety concerns.

  He stopped abruptly and spun around for a second time when the eerie sound in the air was suddenly cut off, but within a few seconds it restarted… and this time it was more blood curdling.

  “That’s somebody screaming!” he said aloud in English. To his surprise, nobody else was as shocked as he was.

  That sounds like a child screaming!

  “It’s your imagination,” Renaldo muttered, averting eye-contact with Koris.

  Koris scowled. If he knew one thing; he knew he was not insane. He could definitely hear a child s
creaming.

  Judging by how well he could hear it and what direction the sound was coming from, he made the assumption that the screaming was coming from one of the buildings across the city square.

  “Hūlüè tā,” one of the many other security guards said, waving away Koris’ superstitions.

  “Can we just get done what we came here to do?” Renaldo asked in an exasperated tone. He hated young politicians like Koris because they were still so full of emotion instead of being dead inside.

  Lord Young made a split decision when they shrill screaming was suddenly cut-off again. Maybe the child was now dead, he hadn’t a clue, but he would never have been able to forgive himself if he didn’t try and find the distressed child.

  “Young!” Renaldo Davys barked as the man went dashing across the city square, his blue robe flapping like a cape behind him. “Gǒupì,” he swore under his breath when he realised that he had to go after the nutty politician.

  “Let him go get himself killed if he wants to,” Lord Chopra muttered in English seeing as this event no longer seemed so formal.

  “Wǒ tóngyì,” Lady Bijoux nodded in agreement with Lord Chopra before lighting up a yellow cigarette.

  Renaldo did agree with the lord and lady, but he would probably get fired by the House of Oxen if he didn’t get the AWOL lord back.

  Many downtowners looked as if they had seen a horrifying creature as Koris ran past them. He ignored their gazes and just tried to focus on which of the buildings the screaming had been coming from.

  Come on child. Help me find you.

  “What’sa an upper doin’ hera?” a scraggily-voiced young downtowner hissed to her comrade as they carried bags of human organs into the city square that they intended to sell. “Ya thinks they here ‘cause of these?” she gestured to the bags.

  Koris halted to gag when he saw the blood dripping from the bags. Downtown was sick. It was downright sick. How could anybody survive in such a terrible environment?

  “Oh God!” he gasped as he put his hands on his knees and hacked like he had seen his dog, Kiddo, do so many times.

  On the verge of vomiting, he stopped himself when he heard one final, very desperate, cry that faded away as quickly as it reached Lord Young’s ears. Koris instantly knew where the sound was coming from as he gazed at the shadowy building looming over him.

  The child’s in there, he thought.

  “He looksa funny,” the body snatcher’s comrade observed. “I wonder hows much hisa parts would sell fo–”

  Renaldo had no regrets about shooting the body snatcher right in the head. Of course, when the other one saw the Chief of Oxen security she scurried away like the sewage rat she was.

  “You are fucking insane, you know that?”

  Koris would have been more appalled by Renaldo’s cursing had he not been more worried about the child who was apparently in agony in the building in front of them.

  “He… She… It’s in there,” he panted.

  “Who?” Renaldo was forced to ask. Now he was positive that the young lord had just gone off the deep-end. Downtown had probably been too much for inexperienced little brain.

  “The screaming child!”

  Renaldo ran his fingers through his hair. “For fucks sake, Young, just let it go!”

  Realising that there probably little time left for the child, Koris took his hands off his knees and started sprinting. The farthest thought from his mind was the judgement of Renaldo.

  “You don’t even know which floor the bastard’s on!” Renaldo cried after the idiotic lord.

  He looked back across the city square once where the lords, lady, plumbers and the rest of security were before he made up his mind and chased after Koris. They would not get good publicity if one lord died during the Clean Up Metropolis campaign.

  “Agh!” a downtowner screamed when Koris brutally pushed him to the side of the stairs.

  The young lord had no idea where he was going or where the child was, but he had to make the assumption that the screams had come from at least the second floor and nothing above the fifteenth floor. There was a good chance Koris could be searching for the child for hours and in the end come up empty-handed, but he didn’t think about that.

  Renaldo, who was following closely behind Koris, could not tell if he was in an apartment building or in a trash heap. The walls were stained with blood and other disgusting things and he could not see the actual floor, just the trash covering it.

  He accidentally bumped into the young lord when Koris suddenly turned around to face him. “Give me your pistol.”

  “What?” Renaldo raised an eyebrow. “No!”

  “You go that way,” he gestured to the left, “and check all the apartments and I’ll go the other way and we’ll meet back up on the other side.”

  Renaldo shook his head. “This place is full of psychotic people who would just love to kill you!”

  “Which is why I want your pistol.”

  “Bu–” Davys was a little surprised when Young didn’t wait for his reply and just snatched the pistol from his holster before dashing off.

  Realising that Koris was not going to stop until he got closure, Renaldo sighed and adjusted his grip on the rifle before jogging down the left side of the hallway. He only glanced into each apartment (which all had their doors open because, with the electricity deactivated in the lower half the building, they could never be shut) seeing as most of the apartments only had one room anyways. He saw so many horrific scenes that were almost more dreadful than the wailing child, but he shrugged them all off as if they were nothing.

  He spun around when he heard a shrieking battle cry. A small, scrawny, teenage girl was charging at him. She was grasping the shard of metal in her bony hand so tightly that she was drawing her own blood. The look in her eyes told Renaldo that was beyond the reaches of humanity. She was an animal just like every other downtowner and he did not think twice about putting a bullet through her brain.

  Half a minute later he met Koris on the other side of the building where the two hallways met up again. The look in the young politician’s eyes said he had seen unspeakable atrocities as well.

  “Suǒyǒu de hǎo?” Young asked in a distracted voice as his eyes darted to the rugged metal stairs next to them.

  “Yeah,” Davys nodded along, “I’m fine, but we should get back t–”

  Renaldo didn’t bother to try and finish his sentence. Koris was flying up the stairs and onto the next level.

  We’re not going to find this kid, he thought with a shake of the head. And even if we miraculously do; it’ll be too late.

  Renaldo was more or less humouring Koris by the time they reached the fourth floor. The inbox on his phone had about thirteen new messages from politicians and security guards alike demanding that he and Koris return from their wild goose chase. Renaldo was not going to let this go much further. He figured he would let the politician check one more floor before he made him go back to…

  “Argh!”

  Renaldo stopped his half-assed inspecting of apartment rooms. That sounded like Koris, but was he screaming, growling or both?

  He found himself feeling anxious when he was not able to find Koris on the fourth floor.

  “Lord Young?” he called out, but with no avail.

  Davys made the assumption that Young was on the next floor up and sure enough, the very first apartment on his right. Even as he neared the room he could smell the drug substances which alerted him about how dangerous this could be. Drugged-up downtowners like that teenage girl he had encountered a few floors down were never to be underestimated. They were insane, and were practically immune to pain in their strange states.

  The first thing Renaldo noticed about this apartment was its broken window that faced out onto the city square. That explained how they had heard the cries in the first place. His eyes slowly panned down to the floor where he saw the chaos – now the broken window seemed less interesting.

  Blood. It was
everywhere. On the walls, the tattered couches, the people sprawled out on them, the naked bleeding boy lying on his back in the middle of the floor and on Koris’ fists as he rained blows upon bewildered downtowner. The man subjected to Koris’ wrath looked rather masculine for a downtowner, but there was no downtowner in the world that could take on a well-nourished uptowner when they were this angry.

  “Lord Young,” he said in a calm tone to try and get the enraged politician’s attention. When that didn’t work he gave up on trying to be composed. “Koris!” he barked.

  The young man stopped almost instantly and turned to look at Renaldo. His face had speckles of blood on it and his robe… well; it was going to take quite a few washes to get rid of the red stains.

  He snapped out of his enraged state when he remembered what he was here for and immediately crawled over to the little boy.

  Renaldo was more shocked by Koris than he was by the whole treacherous scene in the apartment. Koris was an Ox, but he had the rage of a bull.

  As Koris cradled the boy in his arms, Renaldo walked towards the downtowner Koris had just pulverised. He only stopped when his boot landed on something squishy. Looking down, he saw it was a part of the boy that had been gruesomely removed. He made a repulsed face because he could not believe how much dirty downtowner blood there was on his boots.

  Looking down at the pathetic downtowner, he made the assumption that the boy was not related to this man. This downtowner was clearly Asian descendent while the boy looked Caucasian. This raised the question of where the boy’s parents were. He doubted they were any of the drugged-up people on the sofas. Some of them were different ethnicities to the boy and most looked too young to be parents – but you could never tell with downtowners.

  “N-no!” the downtowner choked as Renaldo raised his rifle.

  Sadly, the Chief of Oxen Security had no sympathy for such a monster and shot him in the chest. He could have shot the man in the head and he would have died instantly, but Renaldo wanted the man to have a slower death.

  As the man gargled on his own blood, Renaldo turned to look at Koris and the boy. He had thought that the child was dead so he was surprised to see the body trembling. The boy’s eyes were glazed, and yet he was still blinking – he was not much longer for this wretched world.

  “We have to get him to a hospital!” Koris cried in a panicked voice before removing his robe and wrapping the child in it. Renaldo sneered, that robe was going to have to be burned.

  “Yeah,” Renaldo shook his head out of pity. “Listen; that boy needs mercy, not medicine”

  Koris’ eyes widened as he watched Renaldo readjust the rifle in his hands. “Ó? You don’t mean…”

  The security guard snapped again. He was tired of putting up with such an emotionally distressed politician: “Look around you! I’d say ninety per cent of that downtowner’s blood is now on the floor instead of in his body. Let me put him out of his misery.”

  The young politician was on the verge of tears. He was not sure why he was so attached to the catatonic child in his arms. Maybe being the father of such a young child made him more sympathetic for all children.

  “No! Y-you can’t. He’s just a boy,” he begged while drawing the child closer so that Renaldo would have to kill him too if he fired.

  “Think rationally!” Koris was taken aback by Renaldo’s powerful booming voice that stirred the drugged-up creatures on the couches. “Imagine if you were him; would you want to be put out of your misery in a quick in painless way or would you prefer for your life to ebb away slowly?”

  Koris looked down at the scrawny child. He had to make a decision quickly because soon the child’s only option would be death.

  “Tell the hospital to get a bed ready,” he said boldly as he stood up with the bundled child in his arms.

  “Fuck,” Renaldo grumbled. He was going to take so much crap for letting Koris get away with this.

  “Later, Flicky,” one of the men sprawled out on the couch mumbled sleepily.

  Koris mind was racing at a thousand miles an hour, and yet he still registered that the boy’s name was something along the lines of ‘Flicky’. Little did he know that the addicts were on a drug that they called ‘Flicked’ and a ‘Flicker’ was a user of the drug so it was possible the man on the couch had been trying to say Flicker instead of Flicky.

  “Are you at least going to give the wounds quick treatments?” Davys asked agitatedly. “Getting him out of here won’t matter unless you stop the blood flow.”

  Lord Young looked down at the little boy. Blood was already soaking through the blue robe he had bundled him in. “How can I carry him and stop the blood flow?” he asked in a child-like way.

  Renaldo sighed and reached into a pouch in his utility belt. “Put him down.”

  “No!”

  “Just for a fucking moment!”

  Realising that Renaldo was trying to help, he set the boy down. Out of his utility belt came a quick-fix cauterising ointment that would temporarily seal the wounds. It was very necessary, but it also stung and Koris could see the pain in the boy’s eyes as he was snapped out of his catatonic state for a moment when the ointment made contact with his midsection. He did not have the strength to scream or cry so he just stared dazedly at Koris; wondering why these men wanted to hurt him.

  “Wǒ zhīdào tā téng,” Koris said empathetically. “Nǐ xūyào zhège, suīrán.”

  “He doesn’t speak Mandarin,” Renaldo hissed. “That language is formal.”

  “Some downtowners speak Mandarin,” Koris hissed back.

  “Yeah, the ones from the northern part of town where the highest of the lower-class live, but we’re closer to the southern part of downtown Manticore Metropolis where… everything’s crap.”

  Nobody looked happy to see Davys and Young returning to the city centre. In fact, their expressions suggested that they found the boy in Koris’ arms as disgusting as a disease-infested rodent. Of course they expected Koris to act like this: he was the one politician who always tried to help every poor creature he came across. As a young politician, he did not understand that not everyone could be helped.

  “For crying out loud,” Lady Bijoux groaned when she looked at Koris. She then turned her attention to Renaldo Davys judgingly. “Why did you let him pick up that thing?” she asked him.

  Renaldo opened his mouth to object, but Koris was quicker. “We have to get this child to the hospital!”

  “No,” Lord Chopra said bluntly. “There is no way I am letting that thing onto the shuttle.”

  Koris looked at everyone with disbelief. “What is wrong with you people?”

  “His blood will get everywhere,” Lady Bijoux moaned.

  “Can we worry about that later?” Lord Young pleaded.

  “We only took one shuttle down, so we all have to leave and not get the water tap installed if you want to take that thing to a hospital,” Lord Chopra warned him.

  “All in favour of getting done what we came here to do,” Magdalene said while raising her hand along with everyone else besides Koris. “All who oppose.” Koris would have probably raised his hand, but he was holding and dying child.

  “Majority rules,” Lord Chopra stated. “That’s the democratic way.”

  Good boy, Renaldo thought as Koris set the boy down.

  “Wait… What are you doing?”

  Koris did not look up from his phone as he wrote a message. “I’m requesting an air ambulance.”

  “You can’t!” Renaldo shook his head in disbelief. “The hospital won’t treat people who don’t have an uptown residency.” He was going to continue nagging the young man, but then he choked on his own words when Koris pulled the pistol he had taken off Renaldo out of the back of his pants.

  I should have taken that back, Renaldo thought.

  “Āi!” he put his hands up as if to calm the distressed politician. “Let’s not do anything…” Koris fired a shot right into his own foot, “… crazy,” Renaldo’
s words drifted off.

  “Well… He’s lost it,” Lord Chopra said in almost a mocking way as Lord Young writhed around on the ground.

  The group certainly had the attention of downtowners in the city square now. They would have to get the job done pretty quickly before the hooligans emerged from their blood-stained dens and came for them.

  Although all of this was insane; Renaldo understood what Koris was trying to accomplish. He hadn’t messaged the ambulance to come and pick up the boy, he had called it to come and pick him up for his injured foot. Hopefully the ambulance personnel would have more pity than Lord Chopra and Lady Bijoux and allow Lord Young to slip under the bureaucratic radar, and take the boy in the ambulance with him.

  “Gǒupì!” Koris exclaimed as he grasped his foot.

  “Well, what did you expect?” Magdalene asked with no pity in her tone. “Shooting yourself in the foot isn’t all flowers and kittens.”

  It took every ounce of will in Koris’ body to retrain himself from telling Magdalene to “shut the fuck up”. The pain was almost unbearable, but it would all be worth it if the child lived.

  “Congratulations,” Lord Chopra laughed. “You will now go down in history as ‘the crazy politician who shot himself in the foot’.”

  The air ambulance arrived on the scene and although the medics were unsure of what to make of the whole chaotic situation, Lord Young did manage to convince both of them to take the child back to the hospital with them. It did help that Koris knew both medics very well and it would help even more that he was dear friends with the doctor who would treat him: Doctor Victoria Lauffer.

  Victoria was against the hospital’s bureaucratic system and knew exactly how to go about getting the child treatment without having the problem of the child not having money, insurance or an uptown residency.

  Koris shared a hospital room with the boy, and yet according to the system; Koris was the only one in the room.

  “Let me tell you,” Doctor Lauffer began in clear Mandarin as she paced the room, “that boy is incredibly lucky that you two share a blood type. I could not go under the radar if I took blood from the actual blood bank or cloned the boy’s own blood.”

  Koris nodded along dazedly. He had had to donate quite a large sum of blood to help the little child.

  His wife was going to be furious with him, but not as mad as the House of Oxen heads would be. He had missed out on the group photo that was supposed to be taken and that would not give them good publicity.

  “A major issue ‘Flick’ will have as he develops will be his lack of testosterone which would have come from his testicles. I’ll try to explain to the boy the consequences of this later when he’s more animate,” she looked at the motionless creature in the bed near Koris’.

  “What are the consequences?” Koris asked, his Mandarin slurring.

  Victoria bit her lip. “A lack of testosterone will greatly affect his development during puberty. I would say his lack of nourishment has already affected his growth seeing as he’s at least twelve and just starting puberty, but he still looks nine. Without testosterone his voice will not deepen, he will never develop a muscular build, he may have elongated bones and no sex-drive whatsoever. I can’t say how it’ll affect him psychologically because I don’t know how psychologically stable he is at the current time.”

  Koris looked over at the child. He knew Flick was not going to have an easy road.

  “On the plus side,” Victoria began, “I did manage to seek-out an artificial penis that was supposed to be discarded so the boy will have a penis… just not a functional one sex-wise which I doubt will be an issue for a person with no sex-drive.”

  “Why was it being discarded?” Koris asked out of curiosity.

  “The lady it was supposed to be attached to didn’t like it.” She laughed. “She thought it was too little. I don’t really understand why she wanted one seeing as she was not getting a sex change. Something to do with a bachelorette party.”

  Koris didn’t ask any more questions surrounding the matter. He preferred to not know why the woman needed a dysfunctional artificial penis in the first place.

  “I’ll attach it to the boy tomorrow when no surgeries are scheduled in the paediatrics surgery ward.”

  “Thank you,” Koris said sincerely.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” she warned him. “And once he’s all fixed-up… will you be sending him to McCarty’s Haven for Children?” she asked cautiously.

  Koris looked at the child again. That boy had his blood in his veins now. He was like Koris’ child.

  “I think… I think I may adopt him.”

  Victoria sneered. “Lady Sun going to be okay with that?”

  He nodded even though he doubted she would be.

  “Still, you have to adopt him through McCarty’s so he’s going to have to go there one way or another.”

  “I know, but let’s worry about all of that later.” He turned away adjusted himself to get comfortable. “Right now, I need to sleep.”

  4

  The alarm went off at the usual time, and yet Lord Young felt there was no incentive strong enough to make him get out of bed. He only started to move that morning when Lady Sun threatened to untint the windows and let the Jhard roast him alive.

  Melody was sitting on the couch playing on her tablet with the television going on in the background. Koris was not sure what time she had gotten home last night, but he was just happy she made it home after ‘bungee jumping’ with Princeton.

  Flick had not come out his room yet and Koris doubted the boy was sleeping in – he doubted the boy had slept at all that night in the first place.

  I’ll check in on him a little later, Koris told himself as he grabbed out his phone and headed for the garage. It was strange, but he made most of his important calls in the shuttle garage where he wouldn’t be disturbed or heard.

  “Wèi?” Nikhita said when she picked up the phone. Koris was surprised by the peppiness in her tone. After a night partying with Lysander he had expected her to be tired.

  “Hāi. Zhè shì Koris.”

  “Oh,” and with that, Nikhita felt comfortable talking in just English. “How’s Flick?”

  “He hasn’t woken up yet,” Koris replied simply as that was not what he’d called her about. “You think it would be alright to have promotional campaign… downtown?”

  Nikhita was silent.

  “Not a big expensive one,” Koris reassured her. “Just maybe a few paper posters.”

  “Err. I don’t know. Why are you asking me?”

  “Because I want to run my idea by somebody I trust will be honest before I suggest it to the heads. I was thinking about trying to get the downtowner vote seeing as I doubt I’ll be getting any uptowner votes.”

  “It’s not a bad idea, it’s just that fact that I don’t think there’s any way for downtowners to vote.”

  “Don’t they have electronic voting booths?”

  “Not anymore. Ten years ago after the last election they destroyed them all.”

  “Who did?”

  “The downtowners.”

  Damn, Koris thought. How am I supposed to help them get their say in politics if they can’t help themselves?

  “Well,” he began with a dry mouth, “what if getting new voting booths downtown was part of my campaign? The downtowners would feel obligated to vote for me if I funded the voting booths.”

  “No they wouldn’t. They don’t think that way.”

  “Regardless, do you think I should suggest it to the heads of the House of Oxen and, if then if they give it consen, suggest it to the campaign managers?”

  “Break it to the heads gently and subtly,” she joked. “Maybe at the next meeting?”

  “I was thinking of telling them today.”

  He could tell that Nikhita was sneering on the other side.

  “Really?” she asked with an obvious judgmental tone.

  “Yes. We’ve not got enough time before the act
ual election day to sit around and do nothing until the next meeting.”

  “Suit yourself. Just be careful how you pitch it to them.”

  “Okay. Zàijiàn.”

  “Later.”

  Koris wondered how long it would take to design and print a load of promotional posters. He wanted to get them out soon.

  Going back into the apartment, he saw that Flick was now out of his room and helping himself to food in the fridge. The young man avoided eye contact with him, but Koris let his hand draw across the boy’s back as he passed.

  “Hey, Flicka-roo,” Koris said placidly in an attempt to assure the child that the previous night had been forgotten.

  Koris continued his morning routine before jumping into his shuttle ten minutes earlier than usual and heading for the Parliament House. He would try pitching his idea to the heads individually. If they were in a group they could gang-up on him, but individually he had a better chance of really speaking to them and explaining his idea instead of them just brushing away anything he said.

  All the ceilings in the Parliament House were ridiculously high. Koris had never figured out why the svellik had done that. Yes, they were tall, but they were not Goliath tall. He figured it was either related to their love of architecture (which he doubted seeing as all their buildings were hideous) or something to do with the fact the female svellik could fly.

  “Mornin’, Kor-Kor,” Lysander said cheerfully as he strode by. Koris was a little shocked – nobody had ever called him ‘Kor-Kor’.

  The fact Lysander had his glasses set to a very dark tint suggested that he was incredibly hung-over and that if he set his glasses to clear everyone would see his bloodshot eyes and heavy bags.

  “You and Flicky should have stayed longer. You missed all the fun when the party turned from fancy to frisky.”

  “Then I doubt I missed anything at all,” Koris muttered.

  Young jumped when Jordanis slapped him on the shoulder. “It was great. If only I remembered more of it. I think I may… or may not have knocked a virgin. Can’t remember.”

  When Koris didn’t give an answer and looked more annoyed that anything, Lysander understood the conversation wasn’t going anywhere.

  “See ya around,” he said casually before striding away. He was actually supposed to be at a meeting that had started an hour ago, but seeing as he had slept in he had missed the start.

  Walking through the centre of the Parliament House, Koris avoided eye contact with two of the heads of the House of Oxen as they drank tea together at a café. He would speak to those lords later when they were separated.

  He instead acknowledged them both with a smile as he passed through the centre and headed for the elevator.

  Lady Isla Gok’s office was so sterile it hurt Lord Young’s eyes. She was a perfectionist with obsessive compulsive tendencies. He found himself worried that the soles of his shoes would leave footprints on the lustrous silver flooring.

  Isla was sitting at her interactive desk arranging the electronic files on it. On first look, the ‘window’ behind her appeared to be completely normal, but there were two problems with it. One: Isla’s office was in the middle of the Parliament House and two: the Jhard would scorch her office. No, the window was actually a screen hooked-up to a fireproof camera installed on the top of the building with extreme dimness settings. Koris did not understand why so many people had these window screens – there was nothing to look at outside.

  “Greetings,” Young said Mandarin followed by a slight bow.

  Lady Gok did not reply. She only approved his entrance by glancing up at him before returning to her file management.

  “May I please speak with you?” Koris asked after a brief silence. He tried not to sound desperate, but with no avail.

  “I suppose,” Isla sighed.

  She gestured to the silver seat in front of her desk. Hastily, Lord Young took a seat. Lady Gok intimidated him greatly.

  “I want to suggest an idea to the campaign managers, but first I need you and the other three head’s consent…”

  “Because you need our money,” Isla said coldly.

  “No,” Koris shook his head. “I could fund the campaign myself. I promise.”

  Isla cocked an eyebrow. “What is this ‘campaign idea’ of yours?”

  He swallowed before he began. “I was considering hosting a campaign downtown with just simple paper posters and flyers, but as part of that campaign we could appeal to downtowners by installing new voting booths.”

  She was not impressed.

  “You want to spend money… on downtowners just so you can get their pitiful vote?”

  “Well,” he couldn’t help swallowing again, “my chances of getting the uptowner vote are trivial, so I was considering going for the vote the other two candidates are not even considering.”

  “Whatever,” Isla said immaturely. “We’re not planning on winning the election this time anyways.”

  Koris’ eyes widened. “Wait, so will not mind if I go ahead with this?”

  She shrugged passively. “Sure. Providing the other heads and both campaign managers approve the idea – go nuts.”

  That was easier than expected, Young thought as he closed the door to Gok’s office before letting out a sigh of relief. One down, three to go… and then the campaign managers.

  Lady Annika Fitz was a much more enthusiastic being and Koris did not even have to try that hard to get her consent. Lord Arturo Beige was a little reluctant, but after half an hour Koris finally got his approval. The hardest person to convince was Lord Saul Addicott who wasn’t interested in letting Koris spend any money on a risky downtown campaign.

  “I understand your ambitions,” Addicott said in Mandarin, “but we cannot just toss around yuan. We especially can’t toss money in the direction of worthless downtowners who won’t even appreciate it.”

  Young’s nostrils flared when the head referred to the downtowners as ‘worthless’. Saul was the most discriminative out of all four heads. Not only did he have a distaste for downtowners, he also saw the svellik as equal to animals instead of humans and did not endorse projects to help the svellik progress in the human-dominated Manticore Metropolis.

  “I can fund the promotional campaign if the House of Oxen helps me by funding the installing of new voting booths,” Koris explained. When he saw that Saul was not impressed he had to think for a moment. “Wait… would it be cheaper to repair the voting booths that are already downtown from the last election?”

  The head took a sip of his tea nonchalantly. “Are you sure Lady Sun would be alright with you using money for the campaign out of your own pocket?”

  Young waved away the question. “Don’t worry about that. What do you think about repairing the old voting booths down there?”

  “Depends on how damaged they are.”

  Something tells me they’re completely obliterated, Koris thought, but he was willing to be optimistic about the machines just needing a good kick to get them going if that meant Saul would give him consent.

  “Okay,” Koris clapped his hands together, “what if we sent scouts down just to inspect the old voting booths and then make a decision?”

  “I suppose,” Addicott pondered.

  Koris held his breath as the head mused.

  “Send Ghoad and a technician down to check the voting booths in northern downtown. The south is too dangerous, even for Ghoad.”

  I doubt you would care if Ghoad got hurt, Koris thought with a slight twitch of the eye.

  Addicott noticed the subtle twitch. “Well, do you want my consent or not?”

  “Yes,” he nodded frantically. “Thank you. I’ll consult the campaign managers and then dispatch Ghoad and a technician downtown.”

  Saul nodded and without another word, strode away. When the head’s back was turned Koris did a small fist pump gesture before returning to a casual stance.

  After informing Miss Melvin and Miss Moore, the campaign managers, of his plan
s to start a campaign downtown, Young contacted his secretary, Adina Bär, and requested that she get him a technician who would accept the terms of going downtown. He trusted Adina to find him a good one, but he was still positive that the technician would charge more than usual. Even if he gave the technician an army of guards, downtown was still an uncomfortable realm for uptowners to be in.

  That was quick, Koris thought when his phone beeped to inform him he had a new message. He had only called Adina two minutes ago and she was already getting back to him.

  Bär: I got you a technician from Qíjī Kējì, but when do you want him by?

  He and Adina were friends so he didn’t expect her to message him in formal Mandarin – and she never did.

  Young: I want to get this done quickly so is it possible to get him down there today or tomorrow?

  Bär: Anxious are we? Let me check that with this ‘Todd’ fellow and get back to you.

  Young: Thanks. I will talk with Ghoad to see if she’s up for the challenge.

  Bär: Haha. Ghoad could snap any downtowner’s spine like a toothpick if she wanted. She’ll be fine.

  Adina did not reply after a minute so Koris put his phone back in the pocket of his robe and made his way to go see Ghoad. He presumed she would either be in the shared security force training area or in the House of Oxen Security office. Because he didn’t feel like going to both locations, he just messaged Ghoad and asked her where she was.

  Ghoad: Im at offike.

  Young shook his head out of pity. No matter how hard she tried, Ghoad did not know her way around grammar and spelling. He was more patient than most with bad spellers. After all, he lived with Flick. Like with Flick, Koris presumed Ghoad had the alien form of dyslexia when it came to English or Mandarin, but that could not be helped.

  The House of Oxen Security office was an intimidating place to go if you were not in security. The atmosphere very quickly emasculated Koris as soon as he stepped through the doors. Every perfectly-toned security guard stood tall in their gritty blue and black uniforms… and then there was scrawny Koris in is ironed blue robe.

  He had horrible flashbacks to his experiences in the physical education locker rooms during high school. Koris had managed to block those times from his memory, but the nickname ‘Toothpick’ still haunted him.

  “Zǎoshang hǎo Zhǔ Koris,” someone said behind him as he walked through the narrow pathway between all the cubicles.

  He turned to see Nikhita standing there with her jacket open to reveal her black T-shirt underneath. The House of Oxen Security office was her niche so she felt completely comfortable wearing her uniform however she wanted when she was there.

  “I think you may be lost,” she joked in English.

  Young swallowed. “Err… No. I’m just looking for Ghoad.”

  “Why?” she asked out of curiosity. It was rare for someone to come looking for Ghoad – most were too afraid to even look her in the eye.

  “I have a mission for her,” he replied simply.

  Nikhita looked slightly jealous – what was a mission Ghoad could do that she couldn’t do better?

  “You’re Chief of the House of Oxen Security now,” he explained, reading her mind. “I can’t send you out to do simple tasks anymore.”

  “How ‘simple’ is the task?”

  “Just a quick venture downtown.”

  “So not simple at all then?”

  “Simple for Ghoad,” he muttered just to annoy Nikhita. “There are no threats to her downtown. Really, she’s the only logical choice for this mission.”

  His statement resulted in Nikhita reaching into the nearest cubicle and then proceeding to throw a rainbow stress ball at him. Despite the fact that little thing was virtually harmless, Koris still used his hands to shield his face.

  The man in the cubicle stuck his head out into the pathway between the cubicles to see what was going on. He knew better than to complain. There was no point in whining about a stress ball to his superior – after all, she was the one who threw it.

  “Real mature,” Young scoffed. “Now, where’s Ghoad so I can tell her about the super fantastic mission that will be the greatest thing ever?”

  “She’s in the office’s break room.”

  “Where’s that? “

  She pointed to the archway across the sea of cubicles.

  “Xièxiè,” he said as he walked away.

  He found it strange that the svellik was the only one in the break room. Koris could not help but feel sadness for her. Nobody wanted to ‘hang out’ with Ghoad except Nikhita who was always going to be busy now that she was the Chief.

  “Hello my lorrrd,” the svellik hissed when she looked and saw Koris. He knew she didn’t mean to say that so menacingly, but that’s how it always came out. “What isss it you rrrequirrre of me?”

  “You fancy a trip downtown?” he asked in a joking way even though he was being completely serious.

  Her head slowly bowed before rising again – Young made the assumption that was a nod.

  “What isss it you need me to do downtown?”

  “Just security for a technician who will be checking out the old voting booths we had installed during the last election. Would you be interested?”

  “Of courrrssse, Sssir. When will thisss be happening?”

  Koris ran his fingers through his hair. “Um… Maybe today or tomorrow. Probably within the week.”

  “That quickly?”

  “Yeah, we really are on a tight schedule.”

  “I am happy to help. Continue to messssssage me with detailsss.”

  “Will do. I just have to wait for Adina to get back to me and then I’ll tell you the game plan.”

  I probably could have told Ghoad all of this through messaging, he thought, but as a svellik, she prefers face-to-face interaction. Also Ghoad is not very good at reading in English or Mandarin.

  Now, it was time for Young to stop running around and finally go into his office whether he liked it or not. He hated being confined to a desk and much preferred to be constantly in action.

  Walking through the giant hallways, he could sense the strange tension in the air. Since the attack everyone in the Parliament House was on edge. The number of security guards had nearly tripled and most people were more reluctant to leave the safety of their offices. Koris actually saw this as a positive thing because now the lunch lines were far shorter.

  It’ll all be back to normal soon, he told himself. Once the incident is far enough in the past everybody will start to relax again.

  “Good morning,” Adina said cheerfully in Mandarin as he walked through her office to reach his own.

  “Hi,” he replied. “Any updates about the technician?”

  “His name is Todd Arden and he’s happy to do the check-up whenever. He does request that if he’s going to be going downtown that he travels in an up-to-standard security shuttle for safety reasons.”

  Koris nodded. “Of course. You tell him that he would have a security guard with him?”

  Adina bit her lip: “Yes,” she began slowly, “but I did not tell him it would be a svellik because I was afraid he would back out.”

  Lord Young was silent for a moment before he spontaneously smirked.

  “Well… he’s going to be in for a surprise isn’t he?”

  Adina giggled while running her fingers through her strawberry coloured hair awkwardly. She had thought that he was going to be annoyed with her or call her out for discrimination.

  “Relay that message to Ghoad, will you?”

  “You got it.”

  Once that was sorted, Koris finally slid the door open to his office. Unlike everywhere else he had been that day, the air in his office was cold and stale. To an outsider it would appear nobody had entered the office in years.

  I live on the hottest planet humans have ever settled, yet my office would suggest I live in the arctic, Lord Young thought. He presumed the reason his office was so cold was because of the fact that t
he air conditioning was switched on automatically every morning and he was never in his office to turn it off himself.

  That morning he only did a quarter of the work he usually got done. He was too busy anxiously waiting to hear an update on the voting booth situation from Adina, Ghoad or ‘Todd’. Pulling a little metal sphere back, he then proceeded to watch the spheres in his Newton’s cradle go back and forth. There was so much to do, so Koris decided to do nothing.

  Finally, after two agonising hours, Adina opened the door to his office.

  “Wow, she laughed. “You’ve been productive.”

  Young ignored her statement: “Any updates?”

  “Ghoad’s going to pick up Todd Arden now,” she informed him in Mandarin. Koris could hear a small amount of anxiety in her tone.

  “You think the man is going to freak out when he sees Ghoad, don’t you?” he asked her.

  “I’m mentally preparing myself for that to happen.”

  “So am I,” he sighed.

  “Maybe,” she began cautiously, “we wouldn’t be having this problem if you had just sent any another qualified guard.”

  Koris scowled. “Ghoad shouldn’t be given any less work just because she’s a svellik.”

  Adina shrugged. “Suit yourself. Just remember that not everyone shares your opinion.”

  Like you, Young thought.

  In the early afternoon Lord Young had to attend a House of Oxen meeting. Unlike in his office, Koris had to be far more active seeing as he was the centre of attention. He was quite relieved when the meeting ended after a few hours, but his tranquil day quickly turned sour when a pale-faced Adina Bär was waiting for him outside the meeting room along with Nikhita Kothari.

  Something’s wrong, he realised instantly. Something’s terribly, terribly wrong.

  “What happened?” he asked in Mandarin.

  “Todd Arden was killed,” Adina told him.

  Koris gasped. “Where’s Ghoad?”

  “Parliament House security medical bay,” Nikhita stated. “She appears to only have a broken wing.”

  The trio began walking before Koris pointed at Adina. “You,” he said seriously in Mandarin, “go find out how much the media knows. I don’t want this story getting out until we know all the details.”

  Lord Jordanis will be able to tear me to shreds when he learns of this incident.

  “Got it,” Adina accidentally replied in English before striding away towards her office.

  He then looked back to Nikhita: “Do you know what happened?”

  “The details are still hazy. Ghoad’s not much of a talker when she’s overwhelmed.”

  “How long ago did this happen?”

  “About half an hour ago, but we chose not to disturb you whilst you were in the middle of the meeting.”

  I wonder if the technician was able to check out all the voting booths before he died, Koris pondered before he realised how heartless he was being.

  Besides her broken wing, Ghoad looked virtually unharmed. Lord Young knew her thick exoskeleton would protect her from any attacks the downtowners could deliver, yet he doubted any downtowners would get one blow in because she would break them instantly.

  “Greetingsss, Sssirrr,” Ghoad hissed in English. Her voice never changed tone so it was hard to tell exactly how she was feeling.

  “Hi, Ghoad,” Koris also said in English – he knew better than to change languages in the midst of a conversation when it came to Ghoad.

  “Ssso sssorrrrrry I let Todd die.”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Nikhita said sympathetically.

  “Yeah,” Koris agreed. “I’m sure you did your best to save Mister Arden. Could you possibly explain to me what happened, though?”

  “I made a bad decisssion,” she hissed, bowing her head in shame. “I had hearrrd a ssstrrrange noissse coming frrrom outssside the old voting booth rrroom and I went to invessstigate in cassse it wasss a thrrreat…”

  Her speech impediment becomes hard to comprehend after a while, Koris thought with a slight twitch of his mouth. He knew the svellik had a hard time getting around the letters ‘r’ and ‘s’ as there were no letters of any match in the svellik language, but he still found her speech pattern annoying. This raised the question: why had the humans translated her species name to ‘svellik’ when their name was more along the lines of ‘ngvellik’? Even the name of the great star, Jhard, had not been translated properly, and that was one of the most important icons in svellik religion. That was also why the svellik hated people who ‘corrected’ others who referred to the svellik as bugs even though they were calling them an equally offensive term.

  “… but when I rrreturrrned it appearrred that a downtownerrr had sssnuck in thrrrough the window and had usssed a sssharrrp piece of metal to ssslit Todd Arden’sss thrrroat. When I came acrrrossssss thisss ssscene, the downtownerrr was in the middle of carrrving sssomething into Todd’sss chessst. I shot the downtownerrr, of courrrssse.”

  “And how did your wing get broken?” he asked out of curiosity. He felt there was something not quite right about Ghoad’s story.

  The svellik was silent for a moment before she continued her story. “I wasss right about the ssstrrrange noissse. Another downtownerrr came in from the dirrrection of the noissse when I was focussssssed on Todd and the downtownerrr. The downtownerrr jumped on my back, bending my wing, and trrried to hit me with a piece of brrroken pipe. I thrrrew him off and into the wall and I think I brrroke his skull by doing that.”

  Koris put his hand to his mouth for a moment. He then proceeded to remove it and pointed his index finger upward as if he was asking a question in class.

  “How many of the voting booths did he manage to check?”

  “Three out of twenty,” Nikhita informed him, “we have custody of his tablet at the moment and I messaged that information to Adina for you.”

  “Thank you,” he said sincerely. It was a heartless question, but he needed to know the answer.

  “He sssaid they werrre in betterrr ssshape than he expected,” Ghoad stated. “The firrrst two could ssstill function if they had powerrr.”

  Excellent.

  “And what was the downtowner carving into his chest?”

  Nikhita pulled out her phone, swiped her fingers across the screen across it for a few moments. She then brought up the picture the morgue had sent her of the cadaver and bloated the chest so Koris could see the cuts.

  “It’s hard to tell what downtowners were writing. They practically have their own language,” she explained, “but my bet is that they were trying to write us something.”

  A strange thought popped into Koris’ brain: “You think this could have any connection to the attack on the Parliament House?”

  Nikhita cocked an eyebrow speculatively.

  “Think about it. Most detectives suggest that the missile was launched from near where Ghoad and Todd were inspecting the voting booths. Maybe the same person trying to make a political statement.”

  “Or people,” she said dreamily, her mind in other places. “I’ll start investigation immediately before any possible evidence vanishes.”

  “It ssseemsss unlikely,” Ghoad said. “Could jussst be a coincidence.”

  “Well, we have to start somewhere,” Koris told her. He then looked back to Nikhita: “I know it’s dangerous, but send a well-armed investigation team down. Check out the area within a mile radius. Maybe ask a few not-so-nutty locals if they know anything… and keep this investigation out of the media.”

  “Got it.” And she was off.

  He turned back to Ghoad. “I hope your wing gets better soon. Keep me updated on your condition.”

  “Of courrrssse.”

  Now I don’t have to hear the sound of her annoying voice anymore, he thought cynically as he departed.

  Walking back towards his office, his heart sank when he saw Lord Jordanis watching him from a lunch table where he was having a drink with another Dragon. He slowly applauded Kori
s as he passed by. Lysander still had his glasses set to a very dark tint which made his smile all the more mysterious.

  Damage has been done, Koris thought. Lysander knew about Todd Arden, that was for sure. And if Lysander knows then there’s a good chance it has made the news already. Sometimes I wish we lived back in the 20th century instead of the 50th because back then people had to wait a whole day before they got their newspapers. Now you only have to wait one second to get the latest news.

  He ignored Lysander and picked up his pace.

  It’s not that big of a deal, is it? Yes, a man is dead, but it’s not entirely my fault. It’s that downtowner’s fault and Ghoad dealt with that man. Maybe I should have sent two security guards instead of one, but how could I have known?

  He was not in the mood for feeling guilty. There were so many other things on his conscience that the death of one man he’d never met was not important to him. It was the effect of Todd’s death he had to worry about. The House of Oxen certainly would be getting bad publicity and the heads were not going to be happy.

  Maybe I should address his death publically and give my condolences to his family and friends just so I don’t look as bad – douse the fire before it gets too big. Also, it will not give Lysander the chance to nag me during the debate.

  When his phone started buzzing to inform him he had a new message, he knew the heads had heard about Todd Arden. After taking a breath to calm his nerves, he pulled out his phone and sent a group text to inform them that he intended to address the matter in a press conference.

  Now they won’t want me to do a campaign downtown, he thought with a grimace. They will not want to risk anyone else dying… or getting any more bad publicity. Yes, they don’t think I have a shot at winning this election, but they don’t want bad publicity to be what we are remembered for the next election.

  Lord Young wondered what Andromeda and Melody thought of him as he stood at the podium in front of the cameras and press. They were probably both shaking their heads in shame. He did not bother to wonder what Flick was thinking seeing as that boy didn’t watch television.

  “… and once again, the House of Oxen offers our condolences to Todd Arden’s family and appreciates his work effort,” he said in a sincere tone as he addressed the press in Mandarin.

  I’m not sure if one public apology is enough to put out the fire, he thought as he stepped back from the podium, but hopefully it’s enough to snuff Lysander’s criticising during the debate. Sadly, the man is a Dragon so he will always start a new fire.

  Returning home that evening, he was surprised that Melody and Andromeda did not give him more pitiful looks than they did. Andromeda just glanced at him placidly as she checked her messages on her electronic glasses while Melody did not even look up at all from her tablet – probably because she had her headphones in and did not realise he was home. Kiddo was the only one who really acknowledged that he was home by jumping up on him. Where was Flick? Most likely in his room.

  “Hāi,” he said to his wife as he walked by her.

  “Hāi,” she replied. “By the way; are wǒmen still going the day after tomorrow?”

  He stopped. “Going to what?”

  “The opening of Olympus United.”

  “Oh. Wǒ bù zhīdào. Can wǒ decide tomorrow?”

  “No. Now.”

  “Fine. Let’s go. Wǒ need a day off work anyways.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Yes you do.”

  After putting the Oxen robe on a coat hanger in his closet, he went into the bathroom. He browsed the cabinet in search of painkillers because on the shuttle ride home a headache had developed. Unfortunately, he and Andromeda were out of them so he went to the bathroom attached to the lounge and dining area.

  Koris took two before closing the cabinet door. Looking into the cabinet’s mirror, he noticed something strange. There was a large drop of blood on the edge of the bathtub. He got on one knee to take a better look. The blood had mixed with some water. He was not sure what that meant. Nobody in the 50th century used razors to shave because there were permanent solutions so the blood could not have come from someone cutting their leg while shaving. Neither Andromeda nor Melody menstruated seeing as Andromeda, in her old age, had an artificial uterus incapable of menstruation and Melody had taken an injection so that she would not have her period or get pregnant until she was twenty so it couldn’t have come from them.

  Somebody probably just had a bloody nose, he told himself. We do live in a very hot and dry climate so it makes sense… Let us hope that it is that simple.

  And without hesitation he cleaned it up.

  5

  “Wǒ got a bad feeling about this,” Lord Koris Young stated as they got in the shuttle.

  Not just because Lord Jordanis will be at the opening, but because Flick is coming too. He glanced at Flick in the rear-view mirror. I do not want a re-enactment of what happened at Lysander’s party.

  “Don’t,” Andromeda said while driving the shuttle. “It’s just a tour of the factory.”

  “But what kind of sick factory is it?”

  “Wǒ bù zhīdào, yet I doubt it’s as big of a deal as the Olympus United people are making it out to be.”

  “Probably going to be as exciting as touring a synthetic dairy product factory,” Melody muttered. Koris had not realised she was listening into their conversation seeing as he headphones were in.

  Lady Sun glanced back and scowled at her daughter. She was on the synthetic agricultural board and therefore found the factories very interesting.

  “Nǐ don’t seem very excited to be coming,” Young stated.

  “Meh,” was all she said before she dropped out of reality again and stared out the tinted window.

  She’s just coming because Flick said he wanted to come. She cannot stand the thought of Flick, Andromeda and I doing something without her, Koris thought.

  The Olympus United factory stood on a platform held up by enormous hollow metal structure that went all the way to downtown. The metal was svellik material, just like all other building material on Manticore, so Koris doubted the downtowners would ever have the power to destroy the structure and topple the factory.

  Looks like the entire factory exterior was just cleaned, he noted. It was rare for buildings on Manticore to be so lustrous because the heat rays from the Jhard and the frequent sandstorms the swept through the city very quickly battered the buildings. Even Lord Jordanis couldn’t constantly keep his estate spotless.

  The interior was even more sterile. It almost hurt Koris’ eyes which is why he put on his glasses and tinted them slightly. Nobody else seemed to have a problem with the florescent lighting or sterile garage they had parked in so Young presumed his eyes were extra sensitive for some reason.

  Lord Lysander Jordanis and his son, Princeton Bengal, were on the opposite side of the garage. Koris did not want be noticed by them, but Melody had other ideas.

  “Prince!” she called out.

  The fair-haired boy turned slowly and acknowledged Melody with a slow wave. At first Koris thought Princeton was acting hesitant, but then he realised the boy was moving so slowly because he was jaded. Sleep deprived? No. He was addicted to the lighter version of what his father smoked. Prince smoked cigarettes that were yellow.

  How could Lysander let his son do drugs? Koris thought while watching Prince snuff the cigarette and throw the remains in the trash. He knew better than to smoke on the tour.

  “So that’s the real reason tā came,” Andromeda muttered to Koris as their daughter ran off to be with her boyfriend.

  I wonder if Princeton has offered Melody any of those cigarettes, he thought with a worried expression. He had seen how quickly people became addicted to those little demons. Killer or not, they were still toxic.

  Lady Sun squeezed his shoulder to inform him that he should relax. It was Mel’s life and her choices to make, not his.

  The trail of light-up arrows was a very clear sign of where the crowd
was supposed to go. Everyone was a little uneasy as they followed the arrows out of the garage down a sterile corridor. Where were all the workers? Where was their tour guide?

  “If you wanted to get a bunch of influ…” not being able to remember the rest of the word, Flick went with a synonym for it; “… important people together to kill them. This would be the perfect way.”

  “Hush!” Koris and Andromeda hissed simultaneously, making the young boy cower. Although the idea sounded preposterous, both of them had been thinking the same thing.

  The crowd of just less than three dozen filed into a large circular room where the arrows stopped. No windows, no signs, nothing. In the dead silence the sound of the electricity running through the bright fluorescent lights could be heard.

  “I give it a minute and then we bail,” Lysander informed Princeton, but everyone agreed with him. “I’ve got better things to do with my day than wait around here.”

  A blurred figure could be seen through the translucent doors in front of the group. It was impossible to tell if it was a man or woman. Lord Young still had trouble figuring out the gender even when the doors had slid open. The person’s body was slender, yet toned and their youthful facial features were a mixture of handsome and beautiful. Their silky golden hair was combed back with not one strand out of place.

  They certainly aren’t from Manticore, Koris thought while admiring the person’s slight tan. They weren’t dark, just darker than a person from Manticore. They may not even be human.

  Their eyes. In a literal sense they appeared electric. So artificially blue the person had to either be an android or have had their eyes surgically changed to look that way.

  “Greetings,” they said surprisingly in English. Their enigmatic soft voice was either that of a woman with a low voice or a man with a high voice. “My name is Zeus. I will be your guide through our factory.”

  Somebody laughed. Koris assumed it was Lysander.

  Zeus; that’s a boy’s name. He’s a boy, Koris noted along with the rest of the crowd.

  “The tour I am about to take you will present you with the revolution in the service industry. Jude Dimiourgo, the founder and CEO of Olympus United has studied Manticore and its culture. He understands how inefficient and costly most of your current servants are and would like to help.” The screen above the door behind Zeus lit up with a video of boys who looked like Zeus doing daily servant activities and the lower ranking jobs in society. “That is why he created the Olympians: the most efficient servants.”

  I don’t like this, Koris thought with a scowl while everyone else was in awe.

  “Please,” he made the ‘follow’ gesture, “come with me.”

  Once through the translucent doors the factory felt much more welcoming. They were walking across a covered bridge. Through the glass they could see the factory below. All the blue chambers below held boys that looked like Zeus. Although most of the jobs were done by machines, some fully-grown Olympians were checking up on the developing ones and doing other maintenance. While all the Olympians wore grey uniforms, Zeus’ was completely black with a silver outline suggesting he was the leader of the Olympians as his name implied.

  “That is where the Olympians are officially created,” Zeus explained. “We take approximately three months to grow. All Olympians then go through a compulsory month of training. Depending on how experienced the buyer wants an Olympian to be they can go through more months of training so they are more efficient. However it will cost more.”

  Lysander leaned towards his son who was walking with Melody. “They look like ideal candidates for a new generation of Hitler Youth,” he joked. Princeton did not understand, but Koris did.

  “Even if you choose not to have your Olympians go through extra training, we continue to learn and adapt to suit what you require of us. Unlike with your current servants; there will be no sneaking around, stealing, or rebelling. We will take your orders without question. And the best part is that you don’t have to pay us weekly. No, we are a one-off payment to Olympus United and the only thing you’ll have to pay for after that is our special dietary food which is quite cheap and the shipping is free. We can eat general food as well, but our dietary food is highly recommended as it is adapted to our immune system.”

  This is not good. Koris looked at Andromeda, expecting her to be as appalled as he was. Sadly, she looked quite excited about the Olympians.

  The group followed Zeus into a circular room similar to the one they had previously been in. Everyone was abuzz even though none of them were asking Zeus any questions. That was the job of the reporters who would be taking the tour later on that day.

  “Sadly,” he began slowly to regain everyone’s attention, “Jude Dimiourgo is not able to be with us in person today. He lives on the planet of Eden and it would take him ten years to get to Manticore. Rest assured, he is here in spirit.”

  A few in the crowd gasped. Everyone had heard about Eden: the paradise planet. It was the most successful planet ever settled by humans. The landscape was unmatched. Eden was made up of thick, beautiful rainforests and then the emerald ocean took up the other half of the small planet. So very few humans had settled there and, in agreement with the locals, all immigration to Eden had been banned. Each human couple on Eden was only allowed to have one child in order to have population control.

  “And I am being truthful when I say that Master Dimiourgo is here with us in spirit,” Zeus explained with a smile that looked more robotic than sincere.

  The lights in the room went out and there was darkness for a moment before a new set of lights turned on. These laser-like lights revealed the grid on the walls and floor that began to texturize. The silver room was soon a lush paradise. Sun seeped through the trees, strange animals could be heard singing and right in the middle of the forest was a house. Not a big house, but certainly a nice one.

  Flick grabbed Koris’ arm. While Koris had been in a holodeck before, this was a completely new experience for Flick. The fact that he could no longer tell what was real and what was digital scared him.

  “It’s all good, Flicka-roo,” Lord Young reassured him even though he was feeling a little anxious himself.

  Flick didn’t meet Koris’ gaze. He was too busy scoping the foreign terrain. Most uptowners had trouble comprehending the fact that humans on other planets lived so differently so a downtowner like Flick, who struggled the most with the concept, felt like his brain was going to melt.

  The door to the wooden home opened. Lysander looked amused by the way it swung into the house instead of sliding into the wall automatically like most doors on Manticore did. The house looked like it was something out of the 20th century, not the 50th.

  A man stepped through the door dressed in clothing that would be considered casual on Manticore. Yes, he was in a suit, but where was his robe? The man, of whom most in the crowd assumed was Jude Dimiourgo, bared a striking resemblance to the Olympians. Due to the fact he did not use anti-aging treatments as heavily as Manticorians, he looked in his forties giving off the effect he was rather the father of the Olympians and not one of them.

  There was a projector above the door which allowed Jude to see all the Manticorians standing on his patio. Even though he had apparently done plenty of research on Manticorians, he still looked quite surprised when he saw how pale they were.

  “Greetings,” he said in English.

  Those in the crowd who had a poor understanding of the culture of humans on other planets were appalled that Jude was not speaking in Mandarin. However, those who were like Lysander knew that the people of Eden didn’t speak any Mandarin on their planet. Unlike Manticore, Eden had been settled by people from non-communist countries so they were not influenced by Chinese culture. They were more or less influenced by France, England, Ireland, Italy, Greece and Japan because those were the countries that had endorsed that ark and gotten the first tickets into the hands of their own civilians.

  “I apologise for not being abl
e to join you in person on Manticore. It is a planet I have always had interest in visiting even though it is unlikely I will ever get the chance to. Hopefully our interactions on the holodeck suffice.”

  Liar, Koris thought. Bored in paradise, Jude? No man in their right mind would ever want to visit Manticore unless they were an idiotic daredevil and you certainly don’t look like one of those. You intend to make profit off our dysfunctional uptown and downtown division situation by selling us slaves who will work for less than the downtowners do – so not one yuan. And sadly you are going to get away with this because you have a pretty face and so do your ‘Olympians’.

  “And I am sure most of you would like to visit Eden,” he said with a slightly haughty smile as he knew there was no question there. “I am sorry that we have such strict rules about foreigners, but feel free to take a piece of Eden home with you,” he said as he gestured to Zeus.

  More holograms appeared that were not related to the planet of Eden. Instead, they looked like virtual slideshows all around the holodeck for the Manticorians to browse through.

  “Please,” Jude began once all the square holograms had come up, “feel free to ask me any questions within the next few minutes and take a look at the detailed presentations about Olympians if you’re still not convinced that they are superior to downtowners as servants.”

  Nobody moved even though Jude didn’t intend to say anything more to them as a group. They were all too intrigued by the door behind him that was creaking open.

  A magenta coloured head popped through the crack in the door which surprised everyone in the crowd. Flick’s body stiffened as he squeezed Koris’ arm tighter, nearly cutting off circulation. The boy still had trouble adjusting to the sight of Nikhita and Ghoad, let alone a brand new alien being he had never seen before. Even Koris was stunned by the creature as it crept through the door on all fours even though the design of its spine suggested it could just as easily walk on only its rear legs.

  “Ah,” Jude smirked when he glanced back to see why everyone in the crowd was staring beyond him. “That would be Ica: my adopted daughter after I became mates with her mother.”

  The alien girl’s pointed ears perked up when she heard her name. Her bulbous onyx eyes were directed at Jude questioningly. Strangely, she did not seem to notice anybody in the crowd.

  “She can’t see you,” he explained when ever saw the looks of confusion some members of the crowd wore. “Teisien eyes cannot register holograms or anything along those lines.”

  Ica was certainly confused by Jude speaking to what appeared to be thin air. She stroked her body against his slacks as she passed in attempt to get his attention.

  “Anyways,” he continued, “please feel free to look at the slideshows and talk with me before you continue with the tour.”

  As the guests in the factory slowly began to spread out, Jude made a clicking sound with his mouth in the direction of Ica which made her scurry back into the house.

  “Interesting,” Lysander said as he strode toward the holographic man, “I have studied Eden, and yet I still feel as if I know nothing about the teisi.”

  “Neither do I,” Jude admitted. “The teisi are an enigmatic race of which I don’t think humans will ever learn to truly comprehend. Just when I think I’m beginning to understand Ica, I realise I know less about her than I did before.”

  “There’s no art to find the mind’s construction in the face,” Lysander said casually. “Most people have trouble understanding other humans, let alone aliens.”

  Dimiourgo cocked an eyebrow. “Shakespeare fan?”

  Jordanis scoffed. “My name is Lysander: it comes with the territory.”

  “Ah, I know who you are. Political news travels far. I wish you luck during your campaign.”

  “Thank you,” he said in a more flirtatious tone than he had intended. “Now, what’s it like to knock a teisi?”

  Jude looked more confused than surprised. “Beg your pardon? What does ‘knock’ mean in this context?”

  “Well, I suppose the informal term would be ‘fuck’,” he whispered so that he would not attract the attention of anyone else in the room. Unfortunately, Koris was keeping an eye on him. “Well-respected people on Manticore prefer to use ‘knock’ instead of ‘fuck’ to describe the act of intercourse.”

  “Why not just say ‘bang’ or ‘screw’?”

  “Those words are also considered very informal as they sound too aggressive. Personally, I blame the conservative communist influence on this blasted planet.”

  Jude let out a surprising laugh.

  “You Manticorians amuse me. Anyways: I have never ‘knocked’ Ica’s mother.”

  “Eh? Then how can you be her mate?”

  “I suppose in a way we had mental intercourse if that makes sense. We linked our minds.”

  “Kinky.”

  “Exactly. There is nothing sexual involving our relationship.”

  “Then…”

  “I go to humans for that sort of satisfaction. She is allowed ‘knock’ other teisi if I do it with other humans. I suppose we have a polyamorous relationship.”

  The images of Mark, Cal, and the other servants he had recently knocked popped into Lysander’s head before he quickly shook away those thoughts.

  “I suppose I’m the same way.”

  “No, you’re just a general aristocrat.”

  “Ouch,” Lysander laughed before a sly smile spread across his face. “Tell me; do your Olympians… satisfy?”

  Jude’s tanned face paled. He had a look of mild horror which made Lysander instantly regret asking such a question.

  “Of course not,” he said, appalled. “They perform general duties. Nothing of that nature. If I were you: I’d go look at one of the slideshows and admire their asexual anatomy.”

  “If you insist,” Lysander said, knowing the conservation was now over on that sour note.

  “Nǐ hái hǎo ma?” Andromeda asked as she stepped in beside Koris. His wrinkled brow suggested he was in deep thought.

  “This is insane,” he said coldly as he waved his hand back and forth to run through the holographic slides. “How can this be tolerated? Wǒ thought the situation the downtowners are in was as bad as it could get. But oh no, people just had to prove wǒ wrong.”

  “Wǒ think nǐ are overreacting,” she mumbled as she halted the slides with her own hand. “Just because the Olympians look human does not mean tāmen are human. They are more or less robots.”

  “Wǒ don’t believe that. If they eat, breathe, and sleep they’re living.”

  “Nǐ don’t get this way about androids. Tāmen look human, but nobody treats tāmen like humans.”

  “And downtowners are also human, but nobody treats tāmen like that,” he argued.

  Andromeda rolled her eyes and turned around to leave his presence. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Flick standing with Lysander at one of the holograms across the room.

  Uh oh, she thought. Koris is not going to be happy seeing those two together.

  When he sensed his wife’s hesitation, Lord Young glanced back as well. He feared his face would crack if he scowled any harder.

  Although he did not look, Lysander could apparently sense the two sets of eyes on him which made him slowly put his hand on Flick’s shoulder both affectionately and possessively. As Koris glared at him, a subtle smile twitched the corners of his mouth.

  The young boy did not seem aware of the situation. He was too intrigued by what Lysander was showing him.

  He looked at the older man with great curiosity. “So they don’t have thingies either?”

  “It appears they do not,” Lysander said as they looked at the 3D model of an Olympian. Now Lysander understood what Jude was saying: the boys were missing testicles and their penises did not appear to have any sexual attributes. “They appear to also be missing their nipples and umbilici. I suppose that makes sense seeing they were never born and therefore no umbilical cord scar. Plus n
ipples are formed before a child goes through sexual differentiation in the womb.”

  Flick was not listening. He was astounded by the Olympians. Reaching up in an attempt to expand the image, his sleeve slid down his arm to reveal a scar that instantly caught Lysander’s attention. He took the young man’s hand in his own and pulled it back so he could get a better look. Flick didn’t resist, but he did glance over at Andromeda and Koris to make sure they weren’t watching him.

  “Oh, Flick,” Lysander said softly as he gently ran his thumb across the scar on the boy’s wrist. “Mutilating your body is not the way to cope.”

  The boy pulled his hand back with force and pulled up the brown sleeve of his jacket to cover the wound.

  “You won’t tell Koris, will you?”

  Lysander shook his head. “I will not, but do please be careful. That cut was not a simple scratch. Any deeper and you could hit an ulnar artery or vein.”

  “What are those thingies?”

  Lysander held out his own wrist as demonstration. Like all Manticorians, his skin was so pale that it was borderline transparent.

  “You see those blue and purple lines?” Flick nodded. “If you cut them the blood won’t stop until you bleed out.”

  I’va survived worse, Flick thought.

  Lysander glanced at Princeton who was admiring the sky on Eden with Melody.

  “My son went through some sort of teenage angst-induced depression a few years back and tried slitting his wrists. Only mere scratches, of course. I think he did it just to get my attention. We had only lived together a year and he already felt as if I was ignoring him. Anyways: one night I caught him in the act which gave him a good scare and accidentally made him cut too deep.” Lysander sighed more out of annoyance than sadness. “Then he had to spend the next two blasted days in hospital because the doctors wanted to make sure he wasn’t still ‘at risk’ and that I was not abusing him in any way. He has not harmed himself since that frightening night. I think the yellow cigarettes have been good for him. He’s much more relaxed now.”

  “Were you mad at him?” Flick asked. He was trying to figure out what the reaction would be like from Koris if he ever found out.

  “More or less disappointed. I know that sounds cruel, but at least I’m honest.”

  The young man swallowed. He hated when people were disappointed in him. He could not bear to have Koris let down by him and therefore he would keep the secret to himself… and Lysander.

  What are they talking about? Koris wondered as he briefly glanced at Flick and Lysander again. He was positive they were talking just to irritate him. Now that he was his direct rival, Lysander would stop at nothing to drive him mad.

  He doesn’t actually give a damn about Flick. He’s just using him to get to me like the manipulative bastard he is.

  “Please excuse me,” Lord Jordanis said before sliding his hand off Flick’s shoulder. “I have some questions I would like to ask Zeus.”

  Flick nodded understandingly and walked in the direction of Koris and Andromeda. However, he did stop for a moment to admire some holographic foliage near the edge of the patio. He took great pleasure in pawing at the non-existent greenery before he realised he was getting judgemental looks from some lords and ladies. He stopped quickly and scurried over to Koris of whom he used as a shield against the attention he had drawn.

  “Tell me,” Jordanis began, making Zeus turn around to face him, “I currently have thirty servants in my possession. How many Olympians would you recommend I buy if I wanted them to get same amount of work done as my current servants?”

  Zeus was able to answer instantly: “Fifteen. You would only need fifteen to get the same workload done as your current servants. If you wanted them to get more work done I would recommend twenty.”

  “Intriguing,” Lysander noted. He was not exactly sure if he wanted to replace all his downtowner servants, but if all other well-respected lords and ladies were than he didn’t want to be late to the game.

  “We currently do not permit being able to take Olympians home to test them out, however please feel free to talk with some of the sample Olympians when we go to the final room on the tour.”

  “Would that be in the gift shop?” Lysander joked.

  Zeus shook his head. “No, just our general shop front.”

  “Indeed. And are you Mister Dimiourgo’s personal Olympian?”

  “No. Edenites are forbidden from possessing things the teisi consider sentient. I am merely his representative on Manticore.”

  That explains why Jude opened his factory up on another planet.

  “And what parts of the brain were tampered with in order to make you and the other Olympians submissive?”

  Zeus’ smiled remained, although he looked confused.

  “Our brains were not tampered with,” he explained, “merely perfected to suit our masters.”

  How disturbing, Lord Jordanis thought.

  Flick was solemn when the world of Eden vanished around him. He would have preferred to stay in the holodeck the whole time rather than continue on with the tour.

  “How many planet thingies are out there that are like Eden?” he asked as they walked through another hallway.

  “Probably billions,” Koris admitted. “Humans just have not discovered most of them.”

  “Okay, so how many are out there like Eden that humans live on?”

  “Um.” Koris had to think for a moment. “Three? Three and a half?”

  “Why didn’t the people of Manticore settle on another planet like Eden instead of here?”

  “Hush,” he warned him. He did not want any of the politicians with them to be offended. “Because the settlers were desperate for any habitable planet to land on.”

  “But why didn’t they just stay for a few weeks and then get back on the ship and go look for a better planet?”

  “Because space travel isn’t that simple. Also, the mining on Manticore made them rich… Most of them, at least. Manticore is richer than Eden money-wise in the United Systems of Terra.”

  “It sure doesn’t feel that way,” Flick mumbled.

  As expected, the group was lead into the ‘store front’ where they were expected to buy things. Koris presumed that everyone in their group, being Manticore Metropolis’ elite, would be smarter than to give into this ploy to give Olympus United their money. Sadly, he often had misconceptions about how Manticorians acted.

  But what about your downtowner servants? Koris thought as he watched most of them go straight to the checkouts. I’m already against the way we treat downtowner servants, but are you really going to just toss them back downtown so that you can replace them with these new submissive slaves?

  “Andromeda,” he tried to say calmly, but it came out as a piercing whinge, “what are nǐ doing?”

  She turned to him from the queue for one of the checkouts and cocked an eyebrow. “Huh?”

  He took a step closer to her so that he would not have to speak so loudly: “Wǒmen are not going to have an Olympian in wǒmen de apartment.”

  “Why not? How can nǐ discuss this mistreatment of Olympians if nǐ don’t know a thing about tāmen? Wǒ will buy one for nǐ to study,” she explained even though he knew very well she wanted one out of her own interest.

  Koris bit his lip out of frustration and shook his head.

  “No,” he growled.

  “Tīng. Wǒ let nǐ bring Flick into wǒmen de apartment, now it’s nín de turn to let wǒ bring someone home.”

  “That was different.”

  “Was it?”

  “Wǒ presume wǒ don’t have a choice in this.”

  “Nǐ would be right.”

  Koris snarled again and stomped his foot. He followed this with an attempt to calm his nerves by intertwining his fingers behind his head, making his elbows stick out like the tips of his horns.

  “Calm down,” Andromeda said in a surprisingly un-soothing tone. “Just think about who else the Olympian will be good for.�
�

  The first name that came to mind for Koris was Melody’s. She would most likely want to get the poor boy to do her homework for her.

  “Flick,” Andromeda said when she realised Koris didn’t know who she was talking about. “Flick will benefit from the Olympian. A friend who’s always there for tā.”

  Koris did not seem bought by the idea.

  “Wǒ think we should have a family decision,” he said sternly.

  “Wǒmen have two options: either the Olympian lives at wǒ de office forever or tā merges with our family. I’m happy either way.”

  “Well, at least somebody is,” he snarled before striding away. He didn’t look back, but he was positive Andromeda was smirking.

  Melody scowled at her father when he gently pulled her away from Princeton and towards Flick. The Bengal boy, however, barely took any notice as his mind was on other things.

  “Āi,” he said when he had both of his children’s attention. “So, Andromeda wants to buy an Olympian. Well, tā is going to buy an Olympian whether I like it or not, but wǒ was just wondering what you two thought.”

  Melody simply shrugged even though her eyes told a different story. She hated Flick being in her house, no doubt she would hate an Olympian.

  “Okay,” Koris noted her reaction. “What about you, Flick?”

  The boy stared blankly at him.

  “I dunno,” he mimicked Melody’s shrug.

  “The thing is, we only have a three bedroom apartment… so the Olympian will most likely take pull-out bed in your room.”

  Flick sneered at that idea. His room was his secure haven where he could escape everyone. Where would he go if that was taken away from him?

  “I don’ta mind,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact.

  “Yeah.” Koris read between the lines. “Wǒ will talk to An.”

  Melody scoffed. “When was the last time nǐ were able to talk her out of anything?”

  Never.

  Lord Young’s eye twitched when he saw that Lysander was at the checkout right next to Andromeda and that the two were chatting.

  “Good lord,” the Jordanis man said while scrolling through the list of names on the screen, “Jude really has a thing for the ancient Greeks. All suggested names are along the lines of ‘Apollo’ and ‘Midas’.”

  “There is an option at the bottom of the screen where you can give an Olympian a personalised name.”

  “Nah.” He clicked the ‘random select’ option for all twenty names. “That requires too much effort.”

  When he saw Andromeda was still browsing through the names, his eyes landed on one that made a sly smile spread across his face.

  “Please,” he began in a low voice, “you will be the greatest person on Manticore if you choose that name.”

  He pointed to the one he was talking about. It took Andromeda a moment to realise the joke, but when she got it she couldn’t help but smile.

  “I doubt Lord Young would approve,” she explained.

  “I doubt he approves of you buying an Olympian in the first place.”

  “True.” She glanced up in thought for a moment. “Alright, I’ll do it. What have I got to lose?”

  “Brilliant!” His expression was genuinely happy. “Then again, it leads me to ask why your parents named you ‘Andromeda’ in the first place. You would think that with your heritage, they would give you a name from either Japanese or Chinese mythology.”

  “Neither of my parents are truly connected to their Old Earth heritage. In fact, I’m pretty sure they prefer Greek myth.”

  “For good reason.”

  “Watch your tongue.”

  “Alright.”

  Once they had both completed the transaction, they were emailed their receipts that had their number on them. When the screen above the silver door on the opposite side of the room showed their number they would go in and either collect their Olympian (or Olympians), or simply meet them and have them shipped to their home later.

  “How much did it cost?” Koris asked in a grouchy tone to demonstrate his already obvious disapproval.

  “The Olympian’s a business expense, don’t worry.”

  “But how much did tā cost?” he insisted. “Wǒ want to know how much a life is worth.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” she scoffed. “Kiddo cost wǒmen three-hundred yuan and wǒ don’t recall nǐ ever complaining about that thing’s ‘life of enslavement’.”

  Koris knew he would come up with logical objections later, but at that moment he could not think of a liable rebuttal that would not make him appear to be an asshole to animals and Olympians alike. His mouth remained shut.

  “Uh huh.” Andromeda nodded, taking pride in the fact that she had won – for now.

  The look on Lord Jordanis’ face as he stepped back through the silver door was different than one Koris had ever seen on him. Something had changed within him after he had seen his soon-to-be Olympian servants. Had the situation suddenly become all too real to him? Did he realise the consequences of his actions? Of course, his dark expression immediately changed back to prideful and sly upon seeing Lady Sun and Lord Young.

  “They’re quite exquisite,” he informed them.

  “Is that so?” Koris asked, still thinking about Lysander’s earlier expression.

  “I must say, they will be quite difficult to tell apart and their names are equally hard to remember unless you have studied Greek mythology – which I have. You two are lucky you only need one.” We don’t even need one, Koris thought bitterly. “Tell me, what name did you choose for him? I’ve already forgotten,” he said in a devious way that made Koris very suspicious of the Jordanis man… and his own wife.

  “An,” he said while turning to face his wife, “what’s the Olympian’s name?”

  “I should be going,” Lysander informed the couple before striding away. The smile remained on his face.

  “Say,” Andromeda began, “how much do nǐ know about Greek mythology?”

  “What did nǐ name tā?”

  “It was Lysander’s idea.”

  Fuck. That can only mean bad news.

  Before Koris could insist on knowing the name again, Andromeda’s number came up on the screen above the door.

  “Sweet,” she said with a smile, “let’s go meet wǒmen de new Olympian.”

  Koris was less than enthused. In fact, he was verging on being enraged.

  As he walked through the silver door with Andromeda, he glanced back to see where both his children were. Unsurprisingly, Melody was with Princeton and talking more at him than with him while Flick was near a wall of the store looking anxious – but that was a common expression he had and therefore Koris wasn’t uneasy about it.

  Young was a little surprised when a single red eye scanned them to confirm their identities as they entered the circular room. The owner of the eye was a Cyclops android that was rooted to the floor in the centre of the room. Like the rest of the factory, the android was a strange mixture between functional and artistic. It was obviously part of security and was there to sign out the Olympians, but the silver torso attached to the plinth resembled that of a woman which was an unnecessary feature unless the android was meant to be visually pleasing. Just above the left breast the name ‘Hera’ was printed to help continue the Greek theme. Though an interesting piece, the red eye being the only feature of the face disturbed Koris greatly.

  “Greetings,” it said in a feminine tone. The thing had no mouth, so Koris did not have a clue where the sound was coming from.

  Modern art: I’ll never understand it.

  “Your Olympian is coming now,” it informed them just as the doors behind it opened.

  I cannot believe this is happening, he thought as a blond boy stepped toward them out of a door on the opposite side of the white room. He could only presume the door concealed rows of battery-hen-style cages that the Olympians were kept in.

  The room they were in was moderately large and the drop of a p
in could echo through it, yet the Olympian coming towards them could have just as easily been walking on pillows.

  “Wǒ answered ‘yes’ for picking tā up today instead of paying for the Olympian to be shipped to wǒmen apartment, by the way,” Andromeda muttered just as the boy reached them. He didn’t need her to tell him that, it was quite obvious that the boy was ready to leave immediately seeing as he was clutching a silver suitcase with both hands

  “Greetings,” the boy began in a smooth tone, “my name is Perseus. I look forward to serving you.” He looked at Andromeda. “You are Lady Andromeda Sun, correct?”

  “Yes,” she said with a smirk even though Koris did not understand the joke. “And this is Lord Koris Young.”

  “A pleasure to meet both of you.” He took Andromeda’s hand and shook it first, then Koris’.

  “Nǐ don’t get the joke, do nǐ?” Andromeda asked her perplexed husband.

  “Honestly, wǒ don’t. I had mentally prepared myself for you to call him something along the lines of ‘Gaius’ if Lysander suggested the name to you.”

  “First of all: what’s wrong with Gaius?”

  “Nothing… Just kind of a funny name to say.”

  “Well, so is Koris. In fact that’s a girls’ name.”

  “Not in Armenia.”

  Then it clicked and Koris’ eyes narrowed.

  “Perseus and Andromeda… Wǒ finally get it.”

  Fuck you, Lysander. Fuck you.

  “Bravo,” his wife said sarcastically before returning her attention to the Olympian. “Now, Percy, are you ready to go with us to our apartment?”

  “Yes,” he said simply with a little robotic smile.

  We have only known him four seconds and already An’s given him the nickname ‘Percy’. It’s as if she is on Lysander’s side.

  Once Andromeda had officially signed Perseus out with the android, the trio stepped back into the store where Flick and Melody were waiting for them. Melody appeared less than impressed while Flick’s eyes were wide. Like Koris, he had a hard time comprehending the fact that they were taking home a thing that looked so human, but at the same time seemed inhuman.

  “By the way,” Koris began steadily, “wǒmen will be paying ‘Percy’ above minimum wage for his services around the apartment and as your assistant.”

  Now it was Andromeda who was giving Koris an odd look.

  “Eh?”

  “Nǐ wanted a servant and nǐ got one, but wǒ gets to decide the Olympian’s wages.”

  “Tā doesn’t need to be paid,” she retorted. “We already paid Olympus United.”

  “But we haven’t paid tā and seeing as he’s doing all the work and not Olympus United. Wǒ think tā should be paid.”

  Melody rolled her eyes when she heard her parents bickering as they approached her. She presumed that any day they would separate. In a time when people could live for so long, it was incredibly rare to find a monogamous couple who had only ever been married to each other. Most stayed with each other for a few decades before separating merely out of boredom. Melody was mentally prepared for her parents to split: she did not see what they beneficially gained from each other’s presence. Then again, she did not understand that friendship and love were two separate things in Koris and Andromeda’s relationship. They may not have been in love in the same way, but they bickered like they did because they were friends.

  “Kids,” Lord Young began with a look of dissatisfaction, “meet Perseus. Perseus, this is Melody and Flick.”

  “Hello.” The Olympian put his hand out as a formality and shook Melody’s hand. Flick had a mind blank, not seeming to understand the gestured and instead just continued to stare at him.

  “Was tā like this the first time tā met Nikhita?” Andromeda asked, amused by Flick’s reaction.

  “Dāngrán,” he said, followed by a quick nod.

  Speaking of Nikhita: I hope she’s finding the link between the attack on the Parliament House and the murder of the technician. Something in my gut tells me the two incidences are related.

  The Sun-Young family was the first to leave the factory after signing out their Olympian and buying his necessary food for him. Koris was in haste. It had been a stressful week and Perseus was only adding to the tension.

  “Have any goodbyes you want to say before we go?” Lord Young asked even though they were already getting in their shuttle.

  “No,” Perseus replied placidly. “Where should I sit or will I be travelling in the storage area of the shuttle?”

  Koris gave the boy a blank stare. There was something very off about the Olympian.

  “Err… You can sit next to Flick.”

  Because Mel sure as hell won’t want to sit next to you.

  Perseus complied and sat with excellent posture and his suitcase on his lap while staring forward into the oblivion. Flick shuffled slightly away from the strange creature as if he feared it would snap at him at any moment.

  The ride was silent as Koris contemplated the next steps in his life. He wasn’t going to think about the Olympian too much. He would concern himself with Perseus once the campaign was over.

  Andromeda can sort out Perseus’ life. After all, she bought him and therefore he’s her responsibility. He bit his lip. Who am I kidding? I’m the politician who shot himself in the foot to save a downtowner. Of course I’m going to get involved in Perseus’ life.

  “Why is your skin dark?” Flick asked quietly, but with the dead silence in the car, everyone heard him.

  Koris glanced back at the boy with a scowl.

  “I was designed to be visually pleasing,” Perseus said in a scripted manner. “Statistics show that eight-five percent of Manticorians prefer skin on the more tanned part of the spectrum. Do you find me visually pleasing?”

  Flick shrugged and awkwardly turned his head to look out the tinted window. Melody smirked and muttered something under her breath which Koris didn’t question her about – he probably didn’t want to know the answer.

  Perseus continued to stare at Flick, still waiting for an answer so Koris answered for the boy: “You’re visually pleasing, Percy.” His voice then went quieter. “Don’t worry.”

  He made eye contact with Andromeda for a brief moment. Although it was unintentional, he did glare at her. She cocked an eyebrow in amusement and smirked softly to herself. Young could not figure out why she was not taking any of this seriously. Then again, by her age, she had most likely stopped taking anything seriously which was what happened to most people as they grew older and reached triple digits.

  Kiddo bounded into the garage as soon as the door opened. Instead of going through the regular motions of jumping on everyone excitedly as if they had been separated for years, the dog ran straight to Perseus and began sniffing him. The Olympian remained still until Koris pushed Kiddo away when he started sniffing around the boy’s crotch.

  “This is the other member of our family, Kiddo,” Andromeda explained as her husband dealt with the dog who was now jumping up on him even though he was in his nice robe.

  The Olympian smiled at Andromeda. He was unsure if he was supposed to introduce himself to the dog or not.

  “Now, I have to get to work,” Young told Perseus as he led him into the house. “However, I’m sure Lady Andromeda will give you a quick rundown of the apartment so you know everything you need to know about it. Also, she can sort out your bed.”

  “Actually,” she said while raising her finger objectively, “I have to get to work too.”

  Damn it, An.

  “How long till nǐ need to be at work?” he asked, an obvious strain in his voice.

  “Hour or so.”

  “Then nǐ have plenty of time to show tā around wǒmen de jiā.”

  Koris glanced at the boy, wondering if the Olympians had been taught Mandarin. Andromeda and he had been intentionally speaking English around Perseus because they weren’t sure, but they always had trouble staying in one language. The boy did not seem to take an
y notice. Either he knew exactly what they were saying or felt it was not in his place to ask them what they were saying.

  His phone started to buzz – a perfect way to break the tense atmosphere.

  “I’ll be right back,” he muttered before stepping back into the garage and closing the door.

  “Why’s bà annoyed?” Melody asked as she flopped onto the sofa and picked up her tablet.

  “Because your bàba is silly,” Andromeda replied with a forced smile. “Now; follow me, Percy. I’ll show you where to put your suitcase.”

  As everyone else got on with their days, Flick just stood up against a wall and watched Andromeda slide open the door to his room and invite the Olympian inside.

  What about my privacy?

  “Hāi,” Young said when he put the phone to his ear after seeing it was Nikhita who was calling.

  “Hey,” she replied casually, but her tone suggested this was going to be a serious call.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Not sure. We may have a lead.”

  “Really?” He could not help but be happy even though it was a dark topic. Imagine the good publicity if the House of Oxen Security was the group to find the killer of the politicians.

  “We checked out the predicted vicinity that the missile was launched from. It was hard to estimate seeing as whoever was controlling the missile tried to make it fly around in an unpredictable manner to cover its tracks. But security footage from the Parliament House gave us a fair estimation of where it came from.”

  “Excellent. What did you find in the area?”

  “A nutcase downtowner.”

  “That’s always nice.”

  “I know. He called himself Lord George and claimed that he had seen the terrorists fire the missile. According to him: there’s a huge terrorist organisation downtown we never even knew about and that was only their first attack of many.”

  “Does this group have a name?”

  “Just the Rebellion; nothing special. However, are we really going to trust a downtowner who calls himself Lord George?”

  “It’s not that crazy. I call myself Lord Young. Besides, we don’t have many other choices.”

  Something clicked in his mind.

  “Wait, is it possible that when Todd Arden was killed, the murderer was trying to carve something along the lines of ‘rebel’ or ‘we are the Rebellion’ into his chest?”

  “Maybe, but we have a better chance of reading gibberish than we do of reading a downtowner’s handwriting, so we’ll never know.”

  “You’re probably right. Still, get forensics to take another look at the carvings on his chest. And did ‘Lord George’ show you where the missile was fired from?”

  “Kind of. There was no evidence to prove it was fired from where he said it was fired from.”

  “Okay. You’re doing great, Niki. If I might suggest: try interviewing a few other downtowners in the area not just about the missile, but about this Rebellion group. If the downtowners are rebelling, I want to know.”

  “He was probably lying, you know. There probably isn’t a Rebellion and it’s all in his head.”

  “Maybe, but it would explain a lot. Whoever fired the missile had to know that the politicians would be on the roof that night and they had to get the missile from somewhere, too. I would say that if there is this so-called Rebellion group, uptowners may be in on it by supplying the downtowners with weapons and knowledge.”

  Nikhita was silent for a moment. He heard her swallow.

  “It’s possible,” she said hesitantly. “But don’t think too much about it. We have no proof of this and we only know all this stuff because of a nutcase downtowner.”

  “Which is why you must ask more crazy downtowners if this is true. And do a thorough search of the possible vicinity for any evidence you can find.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Bye.”

  Lord Young sat on the bench in the garage after the call ended contemplating the events. He wanted to help Nikhita in this investigation and dedicate all his time to it, but he had to get ready for the first debate.

  The debate. His stomach churned at the thought. Lord Jordanis would no doubt try to tear him to pieces which was why he had to be prepared and not get flustered. Hopefully Lady Sonata would be kind to him… and hopefully some of Lysander’s wrath would be on her shoulders as well and not just his.

  Olympus United will no doubt be brought up in the debate. That has to be my strong point. I can tie in how the Olympians are treated like slaves to how the downtowner servants are also treated like slaves. I will just have to prove I am not a hypocrite by stating that Perseus is Andromeda’s Olympian, not mine.

  New Olympian, debate in a few days, election on the horizon, possible terrorist organisation out to kill politicians. He rubbed his sore eyes with his palms. Fuck. I can’t do this.

  Flick’s face felt warmer than usual as Perseus joined him in their bedroom. He had trouble being around humans, let alone inhuman creatures that looked human.

  “That’sa your bed.” He pointed to the untouched one before sitting down on his own one to make his territory clear. The bed was the one that had been previously folded into the wall to give Flick more space. Now that it was out the room suddenly seemed far more cramped – he wondered how long he had to live like this.

  “Yes, Master Flick.”

  The boy was a little taken back. He didn’t think he was the kind of person to have a title – especially the title of master. Andromeda and Koris had lady and lord titles, Melody probably would in the future if she got a high ranking job or became a valued citizen of Manticore Metropolis, but he doubted he ever would.

  “Ya know, you can just call me Flick.”

  “Shall I always refer to you as Flick even if in formal company?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay.”

  Flick was not sure how he was going to get changed into his nightwear while Perseus was staring at him. The Olympian was sitting stiffly on the bed with his electric blue eyes monitoring Flick’s every movement.

  “Can ya close your eyes?”

  “Yes.”

  He was not sure why he was so uncomfortable being watched. He was supposed to see Perseus as a household appliance, not a living thing. Did he mind getting changed in front of a tablet? No. So why was Perseus different?

  “Do you bleed?”

  Perseus’ eyes remained shut as he answered the question: “As in blood?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I do, but my blood is different from human blood…”

  He went on to explain the contrasting properties in his blood compared to a human’s blood, but Flick did not apprehend a word of it. Just like he did in remedial school: he nodded along and pretended to understand.

  “What about thinking? Do you think or do you just… do?”

  Perseus was silent as he thought it over.

  “I am partly programmed, but I can also think. That is why I am efficient: I can cope in situations I am not familiar with.”

  “Like a human.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you’re not human?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, you can open your eyes now and get changed into your nightwear stuff.”

  The boy flopped onto his bed as the Olympian stood up and started to undress. Flick did his best to ignore Perseus, and yet curiosity got the better of him. He had no sexual thoughts, just interest.

  The Olympian looked like the hologram he and Lysander had looked at. He was slender, toned, and missing a navel and scrotum.

  How can something so human still not be human?

  Coming to the conclusion that he shouldn’t look at the other boy anymore, he picked up his tablet and turned on the ceiling ‘window’. There was a telescope installed on the roof of their building that allowed him to look at the stars as if they were truly right in front of his eyes. Koris had bought it for him a few years back after getting tired of havin
g to take Flick out every night to stargaze. He loved the night sky. To him, the stars were magical instead of giant balls of gas light-years away.

  “Should I lie down?”

  Flick looked back to Perseus who was now wearing silver silk pyjamas.

  “Go ahead,” he said casually. He presumed that lying down was a given.

  “Thank you.”

  “Wanna see something?”

  “Okay.”

  Flick used his tablet to change the position of the telescope on the roof. He stopped it when it was facing the larger of two moons and began to zoom in.

  “Bagg.”

  “Hmm?” Flicked looked at Perseus curiously.

  “Bagg: that is the moon we are looking at. Baggï is the smaller moon.”

  “Uh huh.” Flick did not care. “Ah, here it is.”

  The telescope pinpointed a black oval blob hidden in one of Bagg’s larger, darker craters.

  “Do you know what that is?” Flick asked.

  “No.”

  “It’s the ark. The old people came from Earth to Manticore on that thingy.”

  “The Sphinx. Correct?”

  “I dunno. I just know they are currently repairing it. That’s why there are all those little black thingies around it: little homes for the people working on it.”

  “Are they recommissioning it for carrying passengers or cargo?”

  “I don’t know what recommissioning is, but I probably don’t know the answer anyways.”

  He was silent for a moment as he stared at the ark.

  “It’sa very big,” he said for no particular reason.

  “It originally carried over seven hundred thousand passengers and fifteen thousand crewmembers.”

  “Think it coulda carry everyone away from Manticore now?”

  “Capacity-wise, it could carry all the current uptowner citizens. However, food rations, and living conditions considered: it would not be comfortable and I estimate the ship would only have room for food to last up to five years even if the on-ship garden was restarted.”

  “What about water?”

  “Water can be recycled, that would not be a problem.”

  “But it is possible?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think they should do it. We should all leave Manticore. Everyone would be happier if we did.”

  Perseus did not reply. He had no opinion on the matter.

  Flick zoomed out the telescope lens again to reveal the full night sky.

  “How long will ya sleep for?”

  “Between two and three hours.”

  “Okay. Well, if ya wake up while everyone else is still asleep feel free to look at the sky.” He passed the Olympian the tablet with the telescope controls on it. “A game I like to play when I cannot sleep is to search for, um, I forget what they’re called. They are huge triangle-shaped things that are silvery and greenish. They don’t have wings so I don’t understand how they fly. They look like they are swimming in the sky – that’s how they move.”

  “Perhaps you are thinking of a skyray?”

  “Yeah. That’s what they’re called. They don’t fly through the city a lot. I think they’re scared of shuttles, but I gotta see one a few years ago. If you see one; wake me up and tell me.”

  “Okay.”

  There was a long silence as both boys stared at the sky.

  “Goodnight,” Flick said before rolling onto his side with his back to Perseus.

  “Goodnight, Flick.” And with that, he fell instantly to sleep.

  I wish I could fall asleep so easily, Flick thought when looked back at the Olympian.

  He did not move around much that night like he usually did. He worried he would wake the Olympian with any sudden movements.

  6

  Lord Koris Young paced the green room as the large thirty-minute timer above the door counted down. Once the timer hit zero the debate would begin.

  Debates in the 50th century had a different structure to debates from the centuries before. On Manticore, at least. The candidates did not stand at podiums and argue with each other while the moderator tried to calm them down. Instead, the candidates and the moderator all sat at one circular table. The moderator would then start up a topic and the candidates would have a critical discussion. Anyone could speak at any time and people could cut-in, but the whole of Manticore Metropolis would be watching and judging and they could decide whether or not they thought the candidates were being rude.

  Andromeda and Melody were in the studio audience while Flick and the Olympian were back at the apartment where Flick had most likely switched on the pre-debate news. Koris would have invited the two boys to come along to the event, but their family had only been given two seats in the audience.

  Flick and Perseus seemed to be alright sharing a room. Flick had not complained which was good seeing he could generally be very blunt about what he did and did not like. The main problem was that the Olympian only needed two hour of sleep and could be awoken with the sound of a pin dropping which meant Flick tried to keep his midnight sobbing to a minimum.

  “Could you stop pacing?” Lady Fae Sonata asked in Mandarin. “You’re making me anxious.”

  “Sorry,” he replied even though he did not stop.

  “Oh, how I wish the public could see this you,” Lysander said in English as orange smoke escaped his mouth. “Your demented pacing would certainly intrigue most Manticorians.”

  I’ll show you demented when I detach your face from your skull. He stopped mid-stride when he realised how gruesome that sounded. What am I saying?

  Lysander smirked as if he had read the younger man’s mind which made Koris feel more disturbed. Not even his mind was safe from Lysander.

  “And how is your Percy?”

  “He isn’t mine,” he snarled, “and he’s fine.”

  “Is he here?”

  “No.”

  “Only Andromeda and Melody?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you decided to only invite blood relatives tonight?”

  Koris’ brow furrowed. Don’t answer him. He’ll twist your words no matter what you do. I can only presume this is a small taste of what he’s going to be like in the debate.

  He decided to reply with his own question: “Well, who did you give your tickets to? Your son and who else?”

  “Prince and Kat, who else? She’s down from Bagg for the next three days so it only makes sense to invite her rather than anyone else. After all, my family is relatively small.”

  Koris had to think for a moment about who Kat was. Lady Kathryn Bengal: Princeton’s mother and Lord Jordanis’ ex-wife. Lysander and Kathryn were a prime example of a couple who had split up out of boredom rather than a rift in their relationship. Kathryn was now remarried to two women while Lysander remained a bachelor, but their friendship remained.

  “Is there some tension between the two of you I should know about?” Fae asked in Mandarin as she eyed both men suspiciously. She picked up on the haughty tone Lysander had and Koris’ aggressive manner.

  He manipulated an asexual boy into doing things of a sexual nature and caused him great distress: there’s the first of many problems, Koris thought, but didn’t say.

  “Certainly not,” Lord Jordanis said casually before pulling a silver canister that held his cigarettes out of his robe pocket.

  “You cannot smoke in here,” Lord Young warned him.

  “I don’t see any signs.”

  “That’s because people are expected to know that they cannot smoke inside anywhere public, ever.”

  Lysander lit his cigarette regardless.

  “My first legislation: no one will be discriminated against for enjoying smoking indoors. After all, we are a society that spends entire days indoors.”

  “Save the bickering for the debate, boys,” Fae joked to try and break the tension in the room.

  Koris’ body was on the verge of shaking. Whether it was out of terror or anger he did not know. Most likely both.


  I must learn not to become so easily upset or I don’t deserve to be the chairman.

  “Don’t call me a boy,” Lysander warned Fae, but he had a playful smile on his face. “I am older than you.”

  “You certainly don’t act it.”

  “Youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold.”

  “Oh, so you’re Peter Pan?”

  “Only if you’ll be my Wendy.”

  “And with pickup lines like that, it becomes clear why you’re single.”

  Lord Young observed the conversation going on in front of him with a dumbfounded expression. These people were horrifically insane. How could they be running the planet when they had discussions about plays and fairy tales just before a major debate? It amazed him how unserious most older politicians were. He thought they should be the most serious people of all.

  Ignore them, he told himself before going back to revising important key points for the debate. This caused him to return to pacing.

  “Don’t stress so much, kiddo,” Fae assured him.

  That’s the name of my dog.

  “These debates are a breeze. Just smile and pretend you know what’s going on.”

  “Yes. Smile and pretend you know what’s going while I win,” Lysander added tauntingly.

  Fae scowled. “Or while I win.”

  Lysander scoffed as if that was the most preposterous statement he had ever heard.

  They don’t think I have a chance. No one does. Hell, even Andromeda’s pretty confident that I’m going to crash and burn.

  “I’ve been doing this longer than you, Jordanis,” Fae said with a slightly aggressive tone. “You were Penelope’s dog for the longest time who could get away with murder, but let’s see how you hold up on your own when you can’t use her as a shield. You can’t be the people pleasing poster boy and the decision maker.”

  “Watch me.”

  Does Fae not realise that she just mentioned a dead woman with no compassion in her tone? Koris wondered after he gave up on trying to revise and started listening to their conversation again. To him, these people lacked two key things he thought a leader should have: sympathy and sanity.

  “… Well what are your opinions on the Olympus United factory opening up? Do you think we will benefit from Olympians or would we be better off with just downtowners as servants?”

  Lord Young knew the debate moderator, North Moreau, would bring the factory up eventually. There was no way they could avoid it. Koris knew he could have ethics on his side. Unfortunately, he would first have to justify why his family had Perseus and make sure it was known it was not his choice to get that Olympian. His explanation would most likely not save him from Lord Jordanis’ wrath, though.

  On his screen below the glass cover of the table he could see the approval snakes slithering along the chart. An hour into the debate and the red snake was slithering the highest on the chart while the brown snake was bottom-middle and the blue snake slugged around at almost the very bottom.

  I need to get more approval or I don’t have a chance in hell, Koris thought.

  “I do not think I can make a judgment until my Olympians arrive at my estate,” Lysander explained in English. The debate had started out in Mandarin, but he somehow managed to sway it to the other language. “However, they do seem to be more efficient than downtowners from what I saw on the tour of the factory.”

  Lysander was too hesitant to rave about how terrible of workers downtowners were. A part of him feared his current servants, including Mark, could be watching despite the fact they didn’t watch television, especially without his permission.

  “I think they could also be put to use in renovating the abandoned buildings on the east side of town and turning them into apartments and businesses to help with our demand for more homes as the population continues to rise,” Fae explained, making her snake slither a little further up the chart.

  “We can have robots do that,” Koris said while trying to retain a calm composure. “We have robots specifically designed to do building work.”

  “Yes,” Lysander murmured in slightly judgmental tone, “but we have very few of those robots and it costs a large sum to make more which is money we don’t want to take away from the taxpayers. Instead, we can have the building robots and the Olympians working together to renovate the buildings which means it will get done quicker.”

  “I suppose the downtowners could also do some renovation work alongside the robots and the Olympians,” Fae suggested.

  Lysander shook his head.

  “No. I, along with most other uptowners, do not trust downtowners to do that kind of work. They are lazy when nobody is looking and inefficient when we are watching. That, and we’re discussing daytime renovation work. Olympians and robots can handle the Jhard, downtowners can’t.”

  “Maybe if we paid them more money they would have more incentive to do an efficient amount of work,” Koris suggested.

  “And that requires more money from the taxpayers and therefore would not bode well.”

  “But surely we must pay the Olympians for their labour. Not just for building, but for being servants as well. That’s the basic right of a member of the Servants Union: to be paid.”

  “The Olympians are not part of that Union,” Fae stated as if Koris was insane.

  “They should be seeing as they will be doing the exact same work as downtowners except for even less yuan – which is none – which is unfair. The Olympians need a fair union and should be paid at least minimum wage for their work. And that money should go directly to the Olympian that does the work, not Olympus United.”

  He looked to Lady Sonata who was nodding in understanding of his viewpoint, but Lord Jordanis and the moderator looked less than amused.

  “And that would cost the taxpayers even more. We may be one of the richest planets in the United Systems of Terra, but this is a pretty hard economy. People can’t just toss out yuan to random projects whenever they feel like.”

  “You know what, Lord Jordanis?” Koris asked in an aggravated tone. “Sometimes we have to pay if we don’t want to treat people like slaves. Sometimes we should not be so selfish with money, capisce? We’re already neglecting basic human rights when it comes to downtowners. Please don’t make complete slaves out of the Olympians.”

  “Do you consider robots to be slaves? They don’t get paid. They don’t have a union. Why push so hard for robots to do our work when they’re exactly like the Olympians?”

  “Because the Olympians are human.”

  “Just because they look human does not mean they are human.”

  “They are based off Jude Dimiourgo who is human.”

  “Many androids are also based of humans, but I don’t hear you complaining about their rights. Think of the Olympians as organic androids. The only difference is the material they are made out of.”

  “Don’t simplify this matter. Androids and Olympians are not the same. Olympians and humans are the same.”

  “They may look like us, which is apparently all that matters to you, but they are not human.”

  “Does the fact they’re living matter to you?”

  “That depends. Is a robot living?”

  “No.”

  “Then why is an Olympian living? Because it’s organic? Living is all in the mind. That’s why someone upon being pronounced brain dead is no longer living even though they are organic. An Olympian, in a sense, is an organic robot.”

  Lady Sonata and the moderator exchanged a glance. Neither of them dared to weigh-in on this little tiff Lord Young and Lord Jordanis were having. Both feared that if they spoke either Koris or Lysander would snarl at them.

  “Look, Lord Jordanis,” Young said slowly in an attempt to regain his composure, “all I want is equality. Is that really wrong? I just want everyone to be paid what they deserved and treated fairly. You cannot act like that is an insane want.”

  “It’s an overly ambitious wan that proves just how young you are,
Young. When you’re older you’ll come to understand what is achievable and what is not… And you’ll also lose your communist ways.” Did he just accuse me of being a communist because I want equality? Koris asked himself. “Until then, you’re not fit to lead a city seeing as you do not seem to understand how functions. I have no doubt you may one day be able to lead Manticore Metropolis. You’re a smart boy, but leave the chairman roll to someone more adequate at the current time.”

  The fucker is being condescending towards me, Koris thought as his fists tightened.

  He swallowed before he spoke: “I’m sorry: did you just accuse me of being a communist?”

  “Like Stalin or Mao, yes. You want everyone to be on the same grounds being paid the exact same amount of money. But, honestly, should a doctor who saves lives really be paid as much as the teenager who works the till at the cinema?”

  “I’m… I’m not a communist.”

  “Yes, you are. However, I’m sure after you see what chaos followed after the rise of both Mao and Stalin – and read Animal Farm by George Orwell – you’ll understand your mistaken political belief.”

  Whether or not it was true that Koris shared some similar beliefs to communism, he couldn’t be accused of being a communist and Lysander knew it. Such accusations would damage his reputation. Manticore had rejected anything to do with communism after they left the communist controlled parts of Earth centuries back. They could not escape all of it, though, which was why Mandarin was still a primary language in the city.

  ‘Communist’ was a tainted word to them, regardless of what it really meant. People were already making connections between the Koris being of Chinese descent and China’s communist history. It did not matter that a great percentage of Manticorians were of Chinese descent: they saw the Mao in Young even if it wasn’t there. Lysander had just ruined his image.

  “Yes, well, if we’re getting into it, you’re more like Ayn Rand than anyone.”

  Lysander scoffed.

  “Ouch. What a petty low-blow, my friend. Let us bicker more civilly. We’re not children. Although, you are closer in age to one.”

  “How did we get from talking about Olympians to Stalin and Mao?” Fae asked, getting a chuckle out of the audience. She was good at breaking the tension in awkward situations.

  “Excellent question,” the moderator replied. “Now, let us get back on topic and discuss how each candidate intends to deal with the education gap between students qualified for higher learning and students not qualified for higher learning.”

  Koris could sense that his face was red with anger. He leaned back on the chair and tried to relax. Glancing down at the table again, he could see the blue snake had hit rock bottom while the red snake was on the verge of going off the chart.

  It doesn’t matter if I’m right or not. Lysander can sway the public any way he wants.

  It was another silent shuttle ride on the way home after the debate. Lord Young was angry with the results of the debate and both Melody and Andromeda were embarrassed for him and dared to not say anything.

  “How’d it go?” Flick asked as he got off the couch. As shown by what was playing on the screen, it was obvious that Flick had watched a documentary on marine life of Old Earth instead of the debate.

  Koris sensed that Andromeda was shaking her head while standing behind him to tell Flick not to ask.

  “Where’s Perseus?” Koris asked to change the topic.

  “Cleaning the bathroom, I think,” he replied with shrug.

  Young sighed in disdain. After everything that had happened tonight, he didn’t want to see the Olympian working ever again.

  “Wǒ think I’m going to head to bed. It has been a long day. Wǎn'ān,” Andromeda sighed as she unbuttoned her robe.

  “Night,” Melody said before going into her own room.

  “Are you heading to bed too?” Koris asked the boy.

  “Yeah. Probably, I feel quite tired,” he muttered before slogging away to his bedroom.

  You’re never tired enough to go to sleep. You hate sleeping, Koris thought. Flick was acting suspicious.

  He knocked twice on the bathroom connected to the main area. Its light was on so he presumed Perseus was in there.

  “Come in,” Perseus replied.

  The Olympian was wearing clothing that did not fit him until one of the family members had time to take him shopping. He was wearing Flick’s shirt, which was too big, and Koris’ pants, which were too tight.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Cleaning the bathroom,” he replied while scrubbing down the tub.

  “Why? I told you that you didn’t have to.”

  “Apologies,” he said even though he did not stop cleaning. “Andromeda gave me permission and her orders come before yours because she bought me.”

  Well, her orders come before everyone’s in this apartment.

  “I wanted to clean this bathtub in particular because it was contaminated with bodily fluids not visible to the naked human eye.”

  “But you could see the bodily fluids?”

  “Yes, and if one of you had a cut, I would not like you to risk mixing your blood with this person’s blood.”

  “Wait, it’s blood?”

  Like the drop of blood I found?

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, well, thank you for being considerate of our health. I will pay you for your services once we set up your bank account.”

  “That is not necessary. I do not need to be paid.”

  “I insist.”

  Young watched as the Olympian turned on the bathwater to get rid of the detergent he had been using. Whether he admitted it to himself or not, someone was at risk in his house. He had his suspicions, but didn’t dwindle on the thought. He could not handle it at that moment.

  7

  Mark opened his eyes after enjoying his rest when he realised that Lord Jordanis had not spoken in over half an hour. He had simply sat there with the younger man’s head in his lap while mindlessly stroking the younger man’s hair. There was definitely something bothering him.

  “Are ya okay?” Mark asked.

  Lysander seemed to snap out of a trance. Looking down at the downtowner, he smiled calmly and nodded.

  “Yes. I am just thinking about the announcement I have to give to you and the other servants tomorrow.”

  “Is it a good announcement?”

  “You will find out in the morning.”

  Mark stopped smiling.

  “You’ra scaring me.”

  “Don’t be scared,” he assured him.

  You may be the only one who does not have to be scared depending on whether or not I make up my mind about asking you to stay.

  “Can ya tell me now?”

  “Nope.” Lysander decided to quickly change the subject. “Now, which bed are you sleeping in tonight, your one or mine?”

  “Your one. My bed isn’t comfy.”

  I never did replace those thin mattresses, Lysander thought. Oh well, too late now.

  Both of them got up and departed from the small study room. They remained quiet as they walked down the hall as everyone else on the estate was asleep. Unsurprisingly, Lord Jordanis had the largest bedroom in the house while his son slept in a moderate sized room and the servants were four to a closet-sized room below ground.

  Lysander already told himself that he would not be having sex – or sodomy, as some called it – with Mark that night because after the announcement tomorrow it could make the boy feel used.

  “I’m simply curious,” he began as he undressed while Mark was already down to his underwear and under the thin silk covers, “what do you think you would be doing if you still lived downtown?”

  Mark didn’t answer right away. He was distracted by Lysander’s rarely seen tattoo of a black dragon with a ruby red eye flying up his back. Mark knew he was one of the few who knew Lysander had a tattoo as the man was never naked in front of others unless he completely trusted them. The dragon was
swiftly covered by the black fabric of his nightshirt, but Mark was quite happy to catch glimpses of it whenever he could.

  “I don’t think I’d be doin’ anything,” he replied once Lysander gave him a strange look for remaining silent for so long. “I think I’d be dead.”

  Lysander swallowed.

  “I doubt that,” he argued in an impassive tone to hide his actual feelings. “You’re a smart boy.”

  “It’s not about being a smarty. It’s about doin’ what ya need to do to live. The things… the things people do just to eat makes my stomach feel funny. Mama protected me, Erik and Knave, but I still saw people screamin’ as they were eaten alive by sick people. I don’ta know where Mama got our food and I don’t wanna know.”

  The older man slowly turned around before crawling onto the bed and looking his younger lover in the eyes.

  “Listen, what is said tomorrow does not apply to you. So when I make the announcement you don’t have to worry.”

  “You’ra makin’ me worry. Does what you say affect Erik?”

  “That’ll all be made clear tomorrow. For now, please rest.”

  He then proceeded to turn his back to Mark and lie still as if already sleeping. Mark stared at him long and hard, wondering what the announcement was about if it was making Lysander act so strange.

  He decided to change the topic to see if Lysander would be more social that way: “By the way, Cal has been acting funny since your birthday party. Would ya happen to know why?”

  “I haven’t a clue,” he lied.

  There was another long silence. Obviously Mark’s changing the conversation technique had not worked.

  “I’ma goin’ to have trouble sleeping tonight, ya know,” he informed the older man.

  Lysander let out a fake laugh and turned over so he could face the downtowner.

  “Try your best,” he said before kissing Mark to try and reassure him that everything was alright.

  I am certainly trying my hardest to sleep on a guilty conscience. Sleep no more. Lysander does murder sleep.

  Lord Jordanis woke to an empty bed. Mark had obviously crept out at some point in the early hours of the morning and most likely returned to his own room. He rubbed his weary eyes. Last night had been restless for him.

  I cannot understand why I feel any guilt about firing my servants. I’ve been nothing but good to them, but all good things must come to an end. They know that, I know that. The Olympians are going to be far better servants anyways… even though they are ‘off limits’.

  He went through his usual morning routine before venturing into the kitchen to make himself breakfast. Usually he would have the servant chefs make him a meal, and yet he was also quite independent and enjoyed making his own meal as much as he did eating it.

  “Morning,” he said in a lifeless tone when his son walked into the kitchen. “I’m making poached eggs on sourdough, would you like me to make you some?”

  Princeton shrugged, but seeing his father’s judgemental eyes made him give a proper answer.

  “Okay.”

  He then took a seat at one of the chairs in front of the counter before pulling his phone. The pair did not have a close relationship, but Princeton seemed more distant than usual.

  “Anything on your mind?” Lysander asked despite the fact that he did not really care for an answer.

  “Nope,” his son replied bluntly even though that didn’t appear to be the truth.

  “Are you sure?”

  “You might overcook the eggs if you don’t pay attention. Neither of us like it when the yolk isn’t runny.”

  “Answer my question, Prince.”

  The boy met his father’s gaze.

  “I’m having a hard time being around the servants knowing that you’re firing them. I was speaking to Nik and he kept talking about the future of his work at this place and that he hoped he could work here forever. If you want my opinion, which you don’t, I don’t think you should replace all the downtowners. I like having other humans living in this place. It won’t be the same with Olympians.”

  “You’re not a fan of change, Prince. I know that. However, sometimes change is for the better. All the other uptowners are replacing downtowner servants with Olympians. Even Melody’s family has one.”

  “What about Mark?”

  “What about him?” Lysander asked as if he had no clue what his son was talking about.

  It was quite obvious that he spent a large amount of time with that particular downtowner, yet he couldn’t admit his relationship with Mark to his son. It was too shameful.

  “The Olympians do not perform sexual functions so I am considering offering one of the servants, possibly Mark, the chance to remain on this estate simply for that reason.”

  Princeton nodded even though his eyes told his father that he thought his explanation was bullshit.

  “You know firing them is a mistake, don’t you? You’re going to regret it. They are all going to die downtown. Every last one is going to die within the month because of you.”

  His statement did not appear to faze his father who simply cocked an eyebrow before serving up breakfast.

  “They know downtown better than we do,” Lysander explained. “They know how to survive. Otherwise they wouldn’t have made it to eighteen.”

  Eighteen was the age that downtowners could start becoming servants. Many tried to fake their age to start work early, yet tests could be run to prove their actual age. Most of Lord Jordanis’ servants were eighteen or nineteen. Mark was the oldest at twenty-three because he had been the servant for someone else for four years before he applied for a position with his brother, Erik, at Lysander’s estate.

  “They’ve been away for too long.” Princeton explained. “And they have to readjust to the downtown environment, but they won’t have time to readjust to the environment. They will be straight-up killed before that happens.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  His son stood up instantly.

  “They are going to die. Mark is going to die. And when he dies alone in the streets of downtown it will be your fault.”

  Lysander blinked slowly before returning to his meal.

  “I think someone is a little angsty this morning,” he said calmly. “Go stretch your legs on the runner and then shower. You’ll feel more relaxed.”

  Although he appeared calm, his heart skipped a beat when his son eyed the knife rack. Luckily his son’s moment of impulsive aggression quickly passed and he flew from the room. Jordanis let out a smirk and continued to eat his breakfast – his son didn’t have the guts.

  “So tā didn’ta tell nǐ what the announcement thingy is about?” Erik asked as he, his brother, and Cal walked down to the grand hall.

  “Nah,” Mark replied. “Wǒ don’ta think it’s gonna be a hǎo one.”

  “What do ya think, Cal?” Erik asked. He knew she probably didn’t have an opinion, but she had been so silent recently that he wanted her to talk to him.

  Unfortunately, all she did was shrug and look at her feet as she walked. Mark and Erik exchanged a look of concern. They kept asking her what was wrong and she kept shutting them down.

  “Maybe he’sa lowerin’ our pay,” Erik considered.

  “Or firing some of wǒmen,” his brother replied. “I’va heard otha servants talkin’ ‘bout these new robot thingies that do our job. Tā could want to get some of them which means less of us.”

  “Hope not.” Erik thought for a moment. “He’da only get rid of the worst servants. Wǒmen shì pretty hǎo at our jobs and tā likes nǐ, so we’da be safe.”

  “Yah,” Mark agreed, although his tone was more concerned than assured.

  The small crowd of servants was abuzz as they waited for Lord Jordanis to go up to the podium and make his announcement. Every single one of them feared that it was going to be a bad announcement. Even as Lysander entered the room he did not seem like his usual cocky self which was a bad sign.

  “Good morning, servan
ts,” he began formally. “I can see by the looks on your faces that you fear that I am going to give you bad news. Unfortunately, I cannot reassure your fears are mistaken… They are not.”

  “Zhòu,” one of the servants whispered in dismay. Although it had been a silent curse, Lysander’s eyes wandered to the perpetrator.

  “I called on this announcement to give all of you your five day notice. In five days, you will board shuttles that will take you to each of your assorted downtown regions.” Some of the downtowners gasped while others didn’t understand what Lord Jordanis was saying. “You will receive your weekly pay check before this time and all of you will be provided with credit cards to access your money. You are also free to keep your uniforms as the Olympians I have bought already have their own uniform.”

  “Is tā sayin’ what I think he’sa saying?” Erik asked Mark in disbelief. “Are we gonna have to leave?”

  His brother didn’t reply. He was too dumbfounded to register that his brother was actually talking to him.

  “Well,” Lysander said after moment of silent, “any questions?”

  One of the servants near the back, Pat, called out something that sounded like utter gibberish to Lysander. He presumed the word was a mixture of Mandarin, English and general downtowner speak. It was obviously an insult rather than a question.

  “Okay then,” Lysander mocked. “I’ll get on that. Besides that, please return to your normal routines. Your schedules will continue as normal until the morning of the fifth day.”

  There was not one happy face among the servants. Lysander doubted that any of them would dare to try and attack him, and yet for the next five days he planned to have his handgun tucked into the back of his pants under his robe. Downtowners were mentally unstable and this would be the perfect time for some of them to snap.

  As the furious and shocked as they were, the crowd dispersed, Lord Jordanis made eye contact with Mark and gestured for the younger man to follow him. Mark understood and muttered something to both his brother and Cal before they left.

  He did not appear pleased to have to follow Lysander. The downtowner was treading a fair distance behind him as they headed towards his office.

  “Now,” Lysander began as soon as the door to his office was closed, “remember what I told you last night?”

  Mark did not answer. He was hurt, angry, and had the strange urge to hit Lord Jordanis. He hadn’t had an urge to hurt someone since he lived downtown. It was probably better for him to start getting those aggressive instincts back if he was going back down into the inferno.

  “Mark, do you remember?” Lysander asked again when Mark didn’t reply.

  “Yah,” the downtowner muttered before turning away from the older man.

  “The offer still stands. You may remain here instead of returning to downtown.”

  “And what about Erik?”

  Lysander wrapped his arms around him from behind and kissed the top of his head. To Mark, this gesture was now possessive rather than affectionate.

  “Erik will be fine.”

  “But he can’t stay here too?”

  “You don’t understand the judgement I’d face for allowing two downtowners to live with me without having to do general servant work. They can understand one, but not two.”

  “Why can they understand one, but not two?”

  “Well, with the Olympians, all the primary servant tasks can be completed. However, there is one thing Olympian cannot do that you can. And I don’t need two downtowners for it.”

  “You want me for sex,” Mark whispered coldly.

  “Precisely.”

  He was beginning to question if he had been delusional about his close relationship to Lysander. Had it really been that shallow the whole time? With the thought, he writhed out of Lysander’s embrace and leapt away from him. Lysander’s expression remained docile even though his eyes suggested he was surprised by Mark’s reaction.

  “I won’t abandon my brotha. Especially not for you,” he hissed.

  “Think about it: getting to stay here with me… doing what you love.”

  “I don’t love it.”

  “Your screaming and moaning in pleasure from last time would beg to differ.” Mark’s face went bright red with those words. Lysander took a small step towards the downtowner. “Also, it would just be me and you, Mark. All my attention on you. I know that’s what you’ve wanted. I can promise I will not get distracted by any other downtowners.”

  Mark did want that, but not at the cost of his brother.

  “Erik will die if I don’t protect him. Ya don’ta understand how evil downtown is. Downtownas have to stick together or they won’t make it.”

  “You underestimate my knowledge of downtown,” Lysander argued, his tone was agitated. “I’ve been on this planet quite a lot longer than you. I’ve seen things… done things sicker than you can imagine. Yes, the odds are against Erik, but they are also very against you if you go with him. You won’t live, Mark, that’s just the fact. I have less fear for Erik because I can imagine him rising to the occasion when it comes to a gruesome tasks necessary for survival. He could kill, he has it in him. I don’t see that in you. You’d hesitate and that would be the end.”

  “Ya sayin’ I’ma weaky?”

  “Not weak. You’re kind hearted and well-intentioned… and downtown that would be your demise.”

  Mark was done with this conversation. There was nothing Lysander could say that would make him stay.

  “Know this, Lord Jordanis,” he said while backing towards the door, “I will most likely die downtown, but if I die saving my brother; what happiness! I will die a smilin’ because at least I did the right thing instead of stayin’ here and becoming evil like you.”

  Lysander had nothing to say to that and so Mark departed the room silently. Standing there alone in his study, he was annoyed. He hated not getting his way. He wanted Mark, yet his didn’t predict that Mark wouldn’t want him.

  All this drama because of those fucking Olympian boys, he thought scornfully as he took a seat behind his desk. They’re not worth my time, the servants aren’t worth my time, Mark isn’t worth my time, none of them are. I have a fucking election to win.

  Time passed quickly as his bitterness consumed him. Maybe he would ask another servant to stay. One that he hardly paid attention to. That would show Mark how insignificant he was and that he couldn’t try to bargain for his brother’s safety. He had offered him a haven and had been rejected. The downtowner was undeserving of his kindness.

  Do not offer the chance to another downtowner, Jordanis told himself. Mark still has five days to change his mind.

  “Whata did Lysanda want?” Erik asked his brother when he joined him in their room.

  “Nah,” Mark shook his head. “Don’ta worry about it.”

  Erik did not pressure him for details. He was more distracted by Cal’s empty expression as she lay on her bed while staring at the ceiling. Something was horribly wrong with her. No downtowner would react as calmly as she did to being thrown out of uptown.

  “Wǒmen don’ta have to chóu,” Mark reassured his brother as he took a seat next to him on the bed. “We’lla move back in with Mama. I’ma sure she’da be kuàilè for us to live with her again. That, or wǒmen could go try to work with Knave at McCarthy’s.”

  Erik swallowed. He hoped living with Mama worked out because it would be too awkward to have to see Knave again after she turned him town just before he left for Lysander’s Estate. Although he thought of Mark as his brother, he didn’t consider her to be his sibling even if they were looked after by the same ‘Mama’. He had been attracted to her for a long time, but she thought of him as a sibling and refused to be anything different. He still had romantic feelings for her and thought about her quite a few times a day which is why it would be too awkward to see her again anytime in the near future.

  “What are nǐ gonna do, Cal?” Erik asked. “We could ask Mama stay with us wǒmen.”

/>   “No,” she replied passively. “I have plans, don’ta worry.”

  “Whatcha plans?” Mark asked, sharing his brother’s concern for her.

  She sat up without making eye contact.

  “Wǒ’ll tell ya later,” she said while opening the door.

  “Where ya goin’?”

  “Just a walky, don’ta worry.”

  That did not reassure either brother.

  “Somethin’ is wrong with tā de,” Erik said.

  “Yah, she’sa in shock.”

  “Think tā ’sa really got plans?”

  “Wǒ hope so.”

  Lord Jordanis was done thinking about the announcement he had made to the servants that day. Instead, he had gone back to doing work towards his campaign as that was far more important.

  He glanced up when he heard the door to his office open across the room. To his surprise, Cal was standing in the doorway. He took note that one of her hands was behind her back and reminded himself that his gun was tucked in the back of his pants.

  “Hello, Cal,” he said calmly. Regardless of what she was carrying behind her back, she was not a threat to him. “How are you?”

  She had not come to exchange pleasantries with him. The cold look in her eyes certainly told Lord Jordanis that. Slowly, she pulled out the object from behind her back. It was a basic knife from the kitchen.

  “Cal,” Lysander said in a warning tone, “what are you doing with that knife?”

  Again, she did not reply, but her eyes filled up with tears of anger as she gripped the knife with both hands and pointed it at her chest. Lysander stood up at the exact moment the knife pierced her chest. Despite the fact that she had been in complete control of her actions, she let out a surprised grunt and collapsed. Lysander considered going straight to her side, however, he would be more useful if he called an air ambulance first.

  “Ambulance to Lord Jordanis’ estate,” he said in Mandarin as that was the language the help desk had greeted him in. “Yes, thank you.”

  He walked at a leisurely pace towards Cal as she let out short breaths.

  “Oh Cal,” he said I a way that should have sounded empathetic, but he was borderline mocking her. “I don’t know what you expected to achieve by doing this except pain.”

  Unsurprisingly, Cal didn’t give him a reply as she struggled to breath. The amount of blood coming out of her mouth was disturbing.

  Jordanis got down on his knees beside her to get a better look at the damage she had done to herself. The knife blade was about three quarters of the way into her body. Judging by its positioning, the knife had either just missed her heart or been stabbed into it. Based on location, it would be quite a few minutes before the air ambulance arrived and it was possible that even when they did show, they would refuse to treat her for because she was a downtowner.

  As expected, when the medics arrived on the scene they were quite reluctant to treat the downtowner. A few of the other servants were standing in the corridor, watching in horror as the medics tried to revive their friend who had gone into cardiac arrest. Lysander decided to close the door to his office so that none of them had to watch. Watching the medics try to revive her was quite stressful, and he had a hunch she was not coming back.

  While one medic worked the defibrillator, the other checked on the state of Cal’s innards with the small portable x-ray device. Lord Jordanis was no doctor, but he could understand that Cal was in critical condition.

  “She needs to be taken to the hospital,” he informed them in a careless manner once the medics had appeared to stabilise her.

  The taller one, who’s ID read Javier Baird, shook his head in what he intended to look like a sympathetic matter, but he actually seemed quite unnerved by the situation.

  “You know as well as I do that the hospital will refuse to treat her.”

  “What if I paid for her treatment?”

  “All the money in the world could not make the doctors treat her. Even if they wanted to, the bureaucracy would halt them. If you don’t have proper identification, a constant uptown residency and health insurance then there’s no way in hell that you’ll get treatment.”

  “Then why did you bother to stabilise her at all?”

  The medics exchanged a look of confusion.

  “You do want to save the foetus,” the second medic, Thomas Oiseau, asked, “right? That’s really why you called us, isn’t it?”

  It took Lysander a moment to remember how to breathe. Cal was pregnant?

  “I beg your pardon?” Jordanis asked in as calm of a tone as he could muster. He then reached into his robe pocket and pulled out his cigarette container.

  “Apologies,” Thomas said, red-faced. “We were under the assumption you knew because, well, there are ways of telling even after a few hours now. She shows signs of being in the early stages of pregnancy.”

  “How odd,” Lysander muttered before inhaling orange smoke.

  “So, theoretically, we cannot treat the downtowner, but we can remove the foetus from her and have it grown in a hospital nursery… providing it is yours. However, the downtowner would not survive this procedure because removing the child from her body this early on would require removing her entire uterus… Well, actually, under uptowner circumstances she could survive the uterus removal, but the hospital will not caring about her body and simply removing it from her for the sake of the foetus so she would probably die of blood loss,” he drifted off when he realised he was getting off-topic.

  Lord Jordanis stared at the floor for a long time in deep thought before replying.

  “No,” he said coldly.

  Javier raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean ‘no’ as in the foetus is not yours or…?”

  “No, as in remove her from life support this instant.”

  “Do you want us to remove the foetus from her?”

  “No.”

  Javier turned Thomas around so they could have a discussion in private.

  “Technically, it is in the mother’s right to decide whether or not the foetus is saved, not the father’s,” he explained. He was one of the rare uptowners who indifferent about uptowners and downtowners when it came to medically aiding people. He felt it was his job to help anyone who needed help without bias so the mother’s choice came first, in his mind, even if she was a downtowner.

  Thomas was not that way: “Yes, but the mother’s not going to be saying much when she’s dead in a few minutes so it is Lord Jordanis’ choice.”

  “I think should be discussed with the medical board.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss.”

  Javier bit his lip. “You do it then. You take the downtowner off life support.”

  “Fine.”

  Javier was surprised how passive Lysander was as he watched Thomas remove Cal from life support.

  “Will you have the corpse cremated?”

  Thomas shook his head.

  “No, usually we just put the body downtown. Do you recall what region she was from?”

  “Northern section.”

  “Okay, we will return her to the northern section.”

  “Excellent, will that be all then?”

  “Yes.”

  “And can I trust you two and the hospital to keep this whole incident out of the media?”

  “The confidentially agreement will keep this under wraps, don’t worry.”

  Lysander nodded and then proceeded to give both men a look that told them it was time to leave. He sat down and turned his chair to face the tinted window as they carried the corpse on a stretcher out of his office. There were some gasps when Cal was seen by the servants which Lysander ignored. He certainly hoped her death didn’t give any of them grand ideas.

  When he could no longer hear the footsteps of the medics, he got out of chair to shut the door to his office again. He avoided eye contact with all the downtowners who were still standing in the hall – Mark and Erik included. The younger of the two brothers was sobbing while Mark was staying s
trong for the sake of his brother. Although the older boy did look directly at Lord Jordanis, he still avoided eye contact and closed the door again.

  She should have died hereafter when I had time to care. Right now I must consider how her death would reflect upon me in the media. I swear: if either of those two medics let their tongues slip up about her I will ruin them.

  8

  Flick and Perseus sat in silence during the monorail ride to the shopping centre. Flick was not sure if it was right, or even possible, to have a genuine conversation with an Olympian.

  The pair were getting odd looks from others on the monorail. The news had only just done a segment on the new Olympians so they were surprised to already see one in real life. Especially with someone who looked like Flick: a person that some of them of mistook for a beggar.

  The shopping centre was even worse. More people, more eyes on the pair. Flick had gotten used to odd looks, but never this many people took second glances of him.

  Remain calm, he told himself. Just get in, get Perseus some clothing, and get out. That’s all.

  The electronics store had televisions in the window display. On the screen, tonight’s second debate between Koris, Lysander and Fae was being aired. The downtowner refused to watch as all it did was make him nervous for Koris.

  “What kinda colours do ya like to wear?” Flick asked when they entered the nearest men’s store.

  Perseus seemed confused: “What colours do you think I look best in?”

  Flick sighed. This had been the problem with the Olympian for the last few days. He refused to give his own opinion… if he had one.

  “I want you to choose a shirt,” he demanded while holding up one from the rack as an example.

  The Olympian looked at the shirt in Flick’s hand.

  “That one?”

  “No, choose a different one.”

  He pointed to the exact same shirt that was on the rack. “This one?”

  “Ugh,” Flick grunted. “Alright, you win. I’ll decide for you.”

  Flick was not entirely sure why his family had nominated him to take the Olympian shopping. As a downtowner, he had learned to basically wear anything he could regardless of whether or not it was flattering on him. When he first moved uptown he couldn’t understand why all the uptowners were so obsessed with clothing. Even Koris, the most humble uptowner he knew when it came to fashion, had refused to let the young boy go to school unless he wore something he considered appropriate and flattering. This was a shocking transition for a boy who had grown up understanding that an old sack with holes in it could suffice for clothing.

  “So,” he began awkwardly while leaning against the wall across from the stall Perseus was getting changed in, “do ya, um, do ya know a lot?”

  “I’m sorry,” the Olympian called back calmly, “I do not understand the question.”

  “Are ya smarter than people?”

  “Academically, yes, as my brain can store more than a human’s and I can absorb more knowledge and have more knowledge to provide. However, I would say you accelerate in areas I cannot.”

  “Eh?”

  The Olympian stepped out of the changing stall in a pair of black jeans and a claret coloured shirt. Flick liked this look on Perseus. He seemed like someone who could look good in anything. This would make shopping far easier. Flick was envious of his body. Why did the inhuman thing get to look human while he looked like a mutant creature?

  “Humans have free will which Olympians do not. Some consider independence a sign of intelligence,” Perseus explained. “Olympians also have limited creativity while humans can be very creative. So in terms of independence and creativity: you are smarter than me.”

  Flick shrugged. “Nobody cares about artsy people. They only care about people who are the academically smart thingy.”

  “That is arguable. Creativity is closely linked to most academic topics such as science, maths, English and Mandarin. You must consider that we would not have language unless it was invented, and structuring a language requires a creative thought process.”

  Flick did not answer and instead handed Perseus a dark grey jacket to try on as well. The Olympian returned to the changing room. The downtowner considering telling him that he could simply put his jacket on out in the open, but decided it wasn’t worth it.

  “Creativity is also important for the design process of developing technology,” Perseus informed him. “Although I am not capable of being creative, my design required creative thinking and multiple designs to figure out how I could look the most visually pleasing.”

  Flick thought of what to say to Perseus after his strange homily on creativity.

  “I like to draw,” he said, unsure of how the added any significance to the discussion.

  Perseus stepped out of the changing stall again.

  “Can you sketch things from imagination and of your own free will?”

  “Uh huh. But I suck at drawing.”

  “I can sketch incredibly accurate pictures. However, I cannot sketch something based on imagination nor by my own free will. I must be told what to sketch.”

  “Oh. So maybe if our brains were mushed together we’da be smarty in everything.”

  Perseus looked confused. “If our brains were mushed together we would both first be deceased due to the fact our brains were removed from our body. And if our brains were removed from our bodies then the grey matter would expire and our brains would cease to function.”

  Flick stared at him blankly. “I don’ta mean it in a real way. I mean, well, if ya had free will and the creativity thingy then you would be perfect.”

  “I would not be a perfect Olympian. It was found during the prototype stages of testing that Olympians with free will and creativity were inefficient for our purpose and also led to issues.”

  “What happened to the previous prototype thingies after the issues?”

  Perseus just smiled his usual default smile.

  “Apologies: that is confidential information.”

  Flick did not pester him for more information. He was more surprised by the fact that he was having a genuine conversation with an Olympian and that they were learning stuff about each other. The Olympians had been advertised as robots, and yet Perseus seemed so very human to the downtowner. In fact, Flick was very fond Perseus. He was the closest thing he had to a friend.

  “Do Olympians enjoy any particular activity thingies?” Flick asked when they went to the shop checkout.

  “I am happy when my masters are happy. Therefore, I enjoy cleaning and serving you. Those are activities you could say I enjoy.”

  “Cleanin’ and servin’ don’ta sound like a lotta fun. Okay, in a fake world where you could do whateva you wanted… what would you do?”

  The Olympian stared blankly at Flick.

  “I do not know. I am incapable of thinking that way.”

  “I wish ya could think that way. You’da be much happier.”

  “I am happy.”

  “No, you’re not. Ya just think you’re happy because your computer brain wants ya to think you are.”

  “Excuse me, Flick?”

  “Eh?”

  “You have made an error in your checkout information.”

  And so he had. It was hard to tell whether that was because he had not been paying proper attention or if he would have made the mistake regardless because he had serious trouble reading the words on the screen.

  “Say,” he began while fixing the error, “how good are ya at spelling and word stuff?”

  “I can spell and comprehend over ninety-five percent of words in the English dictionary as well as seventy percent of Mandarin characters.”

  “And ye can read well?”

  “Very well.”

  “Good, ‘cause I can’t.”

  “Do you have a learning disability?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Does it involve numeracy, reading or writing?”

  “Um, kinda all three, but K
oris says I have the biggest problem reading.”

  “That should not be a problem. I have no trouble reading so I can do that for you when you need me to.”

  “Okay.”

  Flick was not sure about that. Lord Young had always suggested a screen reader for his electronic devices, yet the downtowner refused and insisted he was not blind. He associated not being able to read with being blind because, when he was originally diagnosed, being blind was the only thing Koris could compare it to as the boy had no knowledge of learning disabilities or what they meant.

  While visiting another clothing store, Flick could not help but overhear other shoppers discussing the current debate. From the sound of it things were not going well for Koris. Flick was not sure how these debates impacted the election, but apparently they were very important. The downtowner felt that elections could go by much quicker if people just voted with no build-up. He found Koris was not at his finest during this election. He was a much better person when he was not under all this needless stress. Due to all the madness of the election, Flick and Koris had barely had a full conversation for over a week. He felt ignored and unwanted by his family. Luckily for him, Perseus, although like a robot, was happy to talk to him.

  “So ya know how there’sa more than one of ye?” Flick asked. “Are ya close to the other you’s?”

  “Very close. In fact: we are all the same in every sense except for the thumbs on our right hands.”

  “Nah, but are ya close like brothers?”

  I want to know if you can feel love. Robots certainly don’t.

  “I do not know,” was his simple reply. “I was not designed to do so. We were designed to coincide primarily with humans, not other Olympians.”

  “So even though we’ra talkin’ right now, ye don’ta really talk to the other Olympians?”

  “No, unless we are passing on a command from a master.”

  “Ya life sounds quite lonely.”

  “Olympians do not feel lonely.”

  “Can you feel?”

  “We have a nervous system that allows us to feel whether or not a part of our body is damaged or acting abnormally, and yet the message from our body to our brain is not one of pain like it is for you. It is simply a notification.”

  “Uh huh. Can ya feel happy?”

  “Impossible to tell. I have no reference for what that feels like in human context. I can feel satisfaction which I must assume is a similar feeling.”

  “I guess.”

  Flick could instantly tell by the look on Lord Young’s face when they walked through the door that the debate had not gone well. Koris looked exhausted and defeated. Lord Jordanis had really broken him that night.

  “Ye okay?” Flick asked after he passed the shopping bags to Perseus, who took them to their room.

  He put up one finger to inform Flick to ‘give him one moment’ while he spoke to Andromeda in Mandarin. The downtowner could not understand what they were saying. Only the one word said in English, ‘disaster’, gave him any insight.

  Instead of waiting around for Koris to talk to him, he simply went into his room. He didn’t like to talk to Koris when he was like this because all his stress and anger felt directed at him even if it wasn’t meant to be.

  “He wants proof, An,” Koris explained in Mandarin. “He wants me to prove that the Olympians are serving us against their will, but how can I prove that when those boys can only speak in their general programmed way?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “Maybe you can’t, and therefore you should focus on you strengths in this campaign and not your weaknesses. Fight that battle with Lysander under the table and do what makes you look good on the surface.”

  Koris thought for a moment. He beamed when an idea came to mind.

  “That’s brilliant, An!”

  “What are you thin–”

  Like with Flick, he cut her off by putting up his index finger while he dialled Adina Bär along with his campaign managers for a group chat. Once they all responded to his call he got straight into his plan.

  “Inform the reporters that I will be visiting McCarthy’s tomorrow to make a donation,” he explained in Mandarin.

  9

  Lord Young had always had good relations with McCarthy’s Haven for Children as he had adopted Flick through them. He also made regular donations so they could continue to be a sanctuary for downtowner children. Today, for the sake of good publicity that would hopefully pull at the heartstrings of the public, Koris was going to represent the House of Oxen at McCarthy’s to make a large donation. Ghoad was to accompany him downtown to visit the Haven despite Koris’ concerns about her scaring the children.

  “Do you think that thisss visssit will pleassse the public?” Ghoad asked as Koris got out of his shuttle in McCarthy’s parking lot.

  “The people who like children, regardless of which part of town they are from, will be happy. And I don’t care what the others think. I’d rather not have their vote if they don’t think I should be helping children.”

  The two reporters that had been daring enough to follow Young downtown where distracted by the fortress McCarthy’s was. The four walls that shielded the compound were made of thick Manticorian metal and the top of them was laced with barbwire. It certainly did not seem like an inviting place for children unless they were quite desperate.

  A very young woman waited for Koris, Ghoad, and the reporters on the steps to the main building. She had a slightly darker skin tone than most downtowners and Koris presumed that was because she was of African descent. He noticed that instantly, but it took him a moment to realise she had no right hand. From what he could see, it had been removed from her body in quite a gruesome manner.

  “Hāi,” she said in a perky manner which surprised Young. It was not often that he came across happy downtowners.

  “Zhǔ Koris Young,” he said while putting out his right hand to shake hers. He then remembered she had no right hand and therefore quickly swapped to his left. “I am here on behalf of the House of Oxen to make a donation and to take a brief tour,” he said in Mandarin.

  She took his hand and shook it firmly.

  “I’m Knave. I work here.”

  Koris was surprised for two reasons. One: she looked young enough to be a child who lived in the Haven and two: her name was Knave and her ID badge read the way he expected it to be spelt. He presumed that that was the downtown spelling for the name Neave, but it was hard to tell. It was a good guess that nobody downtown knew what a knave was and just thought it sounded nice.

  To everyone’s surprise, Knave had no fear of Ghoad and happily shook her hand. The reporters quickly got a photo of that strange occurrence before Knave shook their hands as well.

  This is going swimmingly, Koris thought. Thank God they had Knave as their guide. She certainly put a nice light on McCarthy’s when the exterior looked so grim.

  The interior was surprisingly clean from Koris’ perspective. He had only visited McCarthy’s on one other occasion when he had to fill out the forms to adopt Flick. Back then, the place looked one step away from being a rugged drug lab. Either things had really changed or they had cleaned up because he was coming.

  “So how did you get this job?” Young asked their guide as they walked through a corridor filled with photos of children who had lived in the Haven. “Were you raised here?”

  “Nah,” she replied, breaking out of Mandarin for a moment before quickly slipping back into it: “Mama raised me and then got me a job here because she had connections to McCarthy.”

  Koris presumed she was talking about her ‘Mama’ having connections to McCarthy’s: the Haven and not Deo McCarthy: the man who had founded McCarthy’s eight-hundred years ago and died eighty years after doing so – little did he know that Mama had connections to both Deo and his Haven for Children.

  Lord Young had trouble staring too long at the pictures of the children on the walls. At a brief glance they looked like general kids, and y
et when he looked closer he saw just how screwed up they were. It was not their disabilities that got to him, it was their dead eyes and sad faces.

  One child caught his attention. In the sea of sad faces there was one boy (girl?) who looked passive, yet rather cocky. Despite their brown hair and dark grey eyes the child vaguely resembled Lord Jordanis – but that was probably because of their haughty expression.

  “Who’s that kid?” Koris asked Knave jokingly in Mandarin.

  She glanced at the photo as well and shrugged.

  “I dunno. Had to be here long before I was.”

  “Boy or girl?”

  “Dunno, could be either. Genders are confusing. I still don’t know what most the kids are here which is why I find it easier to refer to them all as ‘they’ so I don’t offend anyone.”

  Koris presumed the kid in the photo was in some way psychotic. There was no way they could have a little smile on their face with all the misery around them. Downtowner children: either depressed or insane… or both.

  Surprisingly, the visit to McCarthy’s was rather uneventful. Everybody left in an solemn state after seeing all the maimed and miserable children. It did not matter how much you despised downtowners: seeing those children would make you feel guilt.

  Having not checked his phone or tablet during the visit, Lord Young was surprised to see he had a dozen messages. Most were from members of the House of Oxen, another was from Andromeda, but he read the one from Lord Jordanis first.

  Jordanis: Lucky you. For once the rat is helping the ox.

  What the hell does that mean?

  None of the messages were clear about why he was ‘lucky’. They all simply directed him to an announcement Lady Sonata had recorded earlier.

  “Ghoad?” He looked at the giant svellik as she stood next to his shuttle. “Do you know anything about an announcement Lady Fae Sonata made today?”

  “No, sssirrr. Why do you asssk?”

  “Everyone keeps directing me to it. I’ll have to watch it when we get back to uptown.”

  I don’t want to stay down here another second. As much as I respect McCarthy’s, I hate it down here.

  There was an off chance he would have to come downtown again. Since he had pushed so hard to campaign downtown with flyers, posters, and having the voting machines be fixed, his campaign managers had warned him he may have to do a rally downtown – he dreaded that.

  “… and therefore I am withdrawing from the electoral race,” Lady Sonata said in Mandarin. “I thank all my supporters and I suggest the vote you would have given to me you give to Lord Young.”

  Lord Young choked on his water when he heard that. He looked at Nikhita, of whom he was watching the video with at the lunch table, wide-eyed in disbelief.

  I’ve never even had a full conversation with Fae. Why would she recommend people vote for me? He thought before saying it out loud to Nikhita.

  “I think it’s probably because she would rather have people vote for you rather than Lysander,” she explained in a smug tone.

  He started the video again: “Yes, he is younger than any other candidate we have had in hundreds of years, but some of the greatest minds of the past did not even live to see his age. I think he will bring a freshness to our society because of his age. He is not old and stuck in his ways like, oh, say Lord Jordanis. He is open-minded.”

  “Fresh, open-minded?” Nikhita snorted. “Yeah, she really doesn’t know you.”

  Koris glared at her, and yet Fae’s announcement meant he would not find himself annoyed for the rest of the day. He was far too exultant to be annoyed with Nikhita.

  “Niki, if I got the votes of all the people who would have voted for her I’d be much closer to Lysander. And then if I also got the votes of the downtowners… I could win this!”

  “Don’t get your hopes up. There’s a good chance many of Fae’s ex-voters would rather vote for Lysander.”

  “Maybe a few…”

  “Maybe most of them.”

  “Have a little faith, Niki. I have the slightest of chances now to win so let me live in hope.”

  She smiled half-heartedly and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “I think one of us automatically becomes the pessimist of the other is optimistic in order to keep balance.”

  Young did not answer her. It was at that moment that he realised that Lady Sonata pulling out of the race meant that he would be versing Lysander head-on in the final debate. Nobody would be there to distract Lysander from Koris. All of his wrath would be unleashed on just him.

  He ran his hands down his face, taking his skin with his hands to make it look as though his face was melting.

  “Oh God he’s going to eat me alive,” he groaned.

  “Relax,” she reassured him. “He’s not actually a bad guy. Like the rest of us, he finds annoying you amusing. Hey, see? Now you’re the pessimist and I’m the optimist. That’s why we make a great team.”

  “Lysander plays dirty. That’s how he’ll win.”

  “Then you better fight dirty too or be able to block him at every turn.”

  “I’ll have some good publicity in a few hours to add to Fae’s announcement. I think that will work in my favour in the eyes of the public.”

  “Maybe, or maybe they’ll just be annoyed at you for donating money that could be used for uptowners to downtowners they do not find deserving.”

  “They won’t hate me for giving money to children in need.”

  “People have no empathy for those children, so why would they want you to give money to them?”

  “You make it sound as if all uptowners are just emotionless assholes.”

  “Most are. Then there are a few good ones like you.” His expression was a mixture of frustration and solemnness. “Look, Kor. I’m on your side, but we must consider how most uptowners think. Manticorians, both uptowners and downtowners, are a bunch of sick fuckers because of how this society works. This society is faulty and stuck in these old stupid ways that hinder everyone.”

  “Yes, I know. And I want to change the way Manticore works so that everyone benefits.”

  “A lovely sentiment, but winning the election will not give you the chance to do that.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “No. Everyone else in parliament will shut you down with every new legislation you propose. The House of Oxen will just want to use you as a puppet and ignore your own opinions.”

  “That’s a very cynical prediction.”

  “And yet, probably an accurate one.”

  To Nikhita’s surprise, Koris abruptly smirked.

  “You know it’s funny; for someone who works for parliament you seem pretty anti-parliament.”

  “If you want to change something, you must first get standing in it. That’s what you’ve done.”

  “I guess. How do you expect to change Manticore from the chief of security position? You say I cannot change Manticore even if I was the chairman.”

  She winked cheekily.

  “I’m sure I’ll find a way.”

  10

  The final night in Lord Jordanis’ Estate had swept over the downtowner servants. In the days leading up to this Lysander had noticed some cutlery missing. Particularly his silver knifes. He did not complain – the downtowners would need weapons.

  Erik, despite it being the final night, was alone sobbing in his room. Cal was dead and his brother was spending one last night with Jordanis. He was sobbing out of a mixture of sadness and anger. Sadness because of Cal’s death and the fact he would not see any of his other friends again, and anger because, on such a significant night, Mark had chosen Lysander over him – he would not forgive him for that.

  What Erik didn’t know was that Mark would not forgive himself for everything that had happened. Being the eldest and one who had the easiest time getting through to Lysander, he felt as he had failed his fellow servants by not convincing Lysander to change his mind.

  Lord Jordanis remained silent as Mark b
lubbered into his chest. The boy was mumbling things in complete gibberish. Lysander, who could usually comprehend downtowner languages, could not understand Mark on this rare occasion – a very clear sign that the boy was not in his right mind seeing as he usually spoke quite professionally for a downtowner.

  Once he had calmed down, his expression changed from sorrowful to angry as he threw thin bed sheets off himself.

  “I’ma going back to my room,” he informed Lysander.

  Just as he sat up the older man grabbed his wrist.

  “If you stay the night I have a present for you in the morning.”

  Mark tried to pull his hand away with no avail.

  “No. My brother needs me.”

  “He doesn’t need you tonight, and both of you will need this present.”

  “What’s it?”

  “In the morning, Mark. In the morning.”

  The downtowner hated Lysander’s surprises. Last time the ‘surprise’ had made Cal kill herself. Despite this, curiosity got the better of him and he flopped back down. Lord Jordanis probably just wanted him to stay so they could have sex, but he hoped it was more than that.

  “There’s still time, you know,” Lysander whispered with the slightest ounce of emotion. “You can still change your mind and stay.”

  “No, either all of us go or none. But ye can still change your mind and let us all stay instead of getting those Olympian thingies.”

  Lysander sighed and shook his head.

  “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. I’ve paid for them, they’re arriving tomorrow night, and there is no refund for them.”

  Mark didn’t feel that was a justifiable explanation. He couldn’t understand how Lysander would choose money over human life.

  When Mark woke up the next morning he had managed to forget that he and the other servants were returning to the lower elements that day. In his blissful naïveté he enjoyed resting his head on Lord Jordanis’ chest. It was only when he started planning out his usual servant routine that he remembered that the only thing on his schedule today was returning downtown.

  Not yet. I’m not ready.

  He continued to pretend to sleep until the alarm went off and Lysander began to stir. Rolling away from him, Mark finally opened his eyes. The room was pitch black until Lysander clapped his hands and the warm light filled the room to give off the impression that actual morning sunlight was coming through the windows.

  The boy could not tell whether or not Jordanis remembered what the day was either. His expression was the same as always. Little did Mark know that Lysander had barely slept a wink last night. He had simply laid there, holding Mark as he slept.

  “Good morning,” he mumbled casually as if his mind was not burdened with heavy thoughts.

  Mark was not in the mood for being nice: “Ya said you’da give me a pressie if I stayed the night and I did. I want my present.”

  Jordanis was a little surprised by Mark’s response. It was a reminder that the handful of people who liked him was eroding very quickly. Even his own son despised him.

  As clichéd as it sounds, I don’t need people to like me. I simply need them to respect me.

  He sat up and slid out from under the covers.

  “You are quite right. I’ll keep my promise, but may I first shower?”

  Mark sighed. He knew he could not exactly stop Lysander from doing whatever he wanted.

  “Care to join me?”

  “No.”

  “Fine. Worth a shot,” he joked. “I’ll be out in ten minutes.”

  The downtowner was sitting up as if he was going to get out of bed, and yet he flopped back down as soon as Lysander closed the door to the bathroom. He was not tired, he simply was not ready to leave the bed and start the day. Only when he heard the shower switch off did he get out of bed and start dressing. His servant uniform would be what he wore downtown. They hadn’t been returned the original clothing they had arrived in at Lysander’s estate, making him wonder what had happened to those rags – probably incinerated.

  He tried to remember if he had any possessions on him when he arrived at the estate all those months ago. All he could remember was the clothes on his back. Downtowners rarely had possessions, and if he happened to have any he would have left them with Mama. He had been taught to never get attached to an object as he would most likely not be able to hold onto it.

  “I would say we have half an hour before anyone else wakes up,” Jordanis informed him when he returned from the bathroom fully dressed.

  “My pressie,” Mark reminded him in a bitter tone.

  Lysander cocked an eyebrow, amused.

  “I have not forgotten, don’t worry. Would you like breakfast?”

  “Lysander!”

  “Alright.” He put his hands up defensively. “We’ll have breakfast after you get your ‘pressie’.”

  The younger man followed him through the dark corridors and into his office. Although he did not consider it, this was probably one of the last times Mark would walk through these halls.

  This better be worth it, he thought.

  “Now, I considered giving you a gun,” Jordanis explained while rummaging through a metal chest just under the tinted window. “However, there were going to be two problems that. Firstly: I doubt you know how to use a gun and secondly: it would be useless when you ran out of bullets.”

  Mark replied with a simple nod and waited for Lysander to continue his explanation.

  Jordanis paused when he found what he was looking for and admired it. Chuckling, he pulled out a little black phallic-like object with oval hole in the top of it.

  “I haven’t seen this in a while.”

  “What’s it?”

  Without answering, he slid his thumb across a switch on the side. A silver piece of metal shot out from the handle, then another piece shot out of the first, then the third piece formed the tip of the short sword.

  “This will do you well in a downtown brawl. It is light and portable, but also deadly.”

  He sliced the sword through the air before stabbing his invisible opponent. Mark noticed how the short sword acted like an extension of Lysander’s arm. There was no question he knew how to use it, and yet when and why would he have ever learned how to wield it?

  “Certainly better than the knives most downtowners wield… and have been stealing from my cutlery collection. You have not been one of those people, right?”

  Mark shook his head. He knew the servants who had been stealing from Jordanis, but there was no way in hell that he would rat them out at this stage.

  “Good,” Lysander remarked. He knew Mark would not steal from him. “I call this little fellow Macbeth. However, that is quite an unlucky name so I suggest renaming it.”

  “Why would ya give your sharp thingy an unlucky name?”

  “Because I don’t need luck,” he muttered more to himself than Mark. “And it’s called a sword, not a ‘sharp thingy’.”

  Mark rolled his eyes immaturely. It did not matter what it was called providing it did its job.

  Lysander moved the switch down and the three sections shot back into each other and inside the handle. He then held it out for Mark to take. The downtowner had not been able to guess what Lysander was going to give him. Despite his current dislike for the man, he was very happy with this gift. He reached out to take the sword, but Lysander pulled it out of his reach and raised his eyebrows as if he expected Mark to say something first.

  It took Mark a moment to remember what it meant to be polite: “Thank you,” he muttered. With that, he received the short sword handle.

  “I’ve decided that isn’t going to be your only present,” Lord Jordanis stated after much thought.

  “I’ll take this because the others have already been taking knife thingies from ya, but I don’ta want other pressies because they may get annoyed.”

  “First of all: you have a sword and they have dinner knives, and they will not be jealous if you tell them if the n
ext gift I give you was something you already owned.”

  Lysander got back on one knee to continue his search through the metal chest. He dragged out a black single-strap bag. It was big enough to carry important things, yet small enough to not be a heavy hassle.

  “Why do ye have these things in this chest right here?” Mark asked as Lysander opened the bag and put his hand in to check if anything was inside.

  “I’ve been many people in my life. This is my memorabilia chest for me to go through whenever I’m tired of work and feeling nostalgic.”

  Mark did not know what the words ‘memorabilia’ and ‘nostalgic’ meant, but as a downtowner he was used to filling in the blanks for it to make sense to him.

  “Where does the sword thingy come into it?”

  Lysander smirked and did not bother to answer, leaving Mark confused. Seeing this, he decided to change the topic.

  “Come,” he slung the bag over his shoulder, “let’s go to breakfast and then fill this bag.”

  “Fill it with what?”

  “Food, water. The usual things.”

  I am preparing him like I would for a Manticorian mountain trip, he thought. He’s not going for a getaway hike through the mountains; he’s going to a dangerous ghetto.

  “Why are you doing this?” Mark asked in an exasperated manner. “Why are you giving me all this stuff?”

  Lysander planned out his answer for a moment. “I know seems strange. I feel like I owe you. Consider this my way of saying ‘thank you’.”

  “For what? ‘Thank you’ for what?”

  Everything.

  “For letting me knock you.”

  “Oh,” Mark muttered, obviously disappointed with Lysander’s answer. “Thanks, I guess. It’sa nice and all, but I’m worried the bag with the food and stuff might get stolen if I take it downtown.”

  “And that, Mark,” Lysander began before a dramatic pause, “is why I gave you the short sword.”

  The ex-servants sat on the benches and waited to be boarded onto the two shuttles. The shuttles would not take them directly to where they lived, simply to the area in which they had lived. None of them were crying like in the previous days. Most had just submitted to their fate.

  Mark took a seat next to Erik who had not made eye contact with him since he had arrived in the hangar.

  “Hāi,” Mark said to see if he could elicit a response. His attempt failed.

  Not wanting to make a scene, he remained quiet next to his brother.

  The tinted glass wall between the two hangars showed the doors to the other hangar slowly opening. Two premium silver shuttles zipped in and landed. Lord Jordanis entered once those hangar doors had closed again and it was safe to stand in the hangar. Mark wondered what was more important than saying goodbye to his downtowner servants even though they were just in the other hangar. The glass was crystal clear on both sides, but Lysander still did not glance over once.

  The downtowners were now being boarded by the hired chauffeurs, and yet the servants moved at a leisurely pace because they wanted to see what the shuttles in the other hanger held.

  “Lái ba,” the chauffer said in an irritated manner as he hustled Erik into the shuttle.

  Mark followed right after. Both brothers went immediately for one of the small windows in the shuttle. Mark snarled when he saw the passengers leave the silver shuttles. The Olympians had just been delivered.

  Lysander would rather meet his new servants than say goodbye to us. I was wrong. He really doesn’t care about anyone else. It’s always about him.

  As the shuttles left the hanger and started flying back towards Manticore Metropolis, Mark looked back to get one last look at Jordanis’ estate. Everything felt surreal. He simply could not remember what it was like to live in constant fear of being attacked rather than making a living in an estate he had never realised was so beautiful.

  We just have to find Mama. Then everything will be alright.

  “Wǒ wonda ifa Knave yǒu heard about the Olympians stealing wǒmen de jobs,” he pondered out loud. He knew speaking about Knave would get Erik’s attention.

  Erik responded with a hollow shrug and continued to stare out the window. Hopefully they would be able to talk about what was bothering him when they got downtown. This was hard for Mark. He couldn’t stand the idea of people being angry with him. He lived to please people, especially his family.

  He tried to not focus on Erik’s frustration at that moment and instead contemplated how Mama would react when two of her kids arrived on her doorstep. Downtowners as isolated as her had certainly not heard about the Olympians taking over the service industry.

  Mark considered the worst case scenarios of what could happen when they arrived at her doorstep: she could turn us away. No, she loves us. She could be sick or injured… or dead. He shook the thought out of his head. For some reason, neither he nor Erik had considered that Mama could have died in the months that they had been away. It didn’t seem possible that anyone could kill her. She had always given off this confident immortal vibe.

  As they flew over the metropolis, Mark knew they would reach their destination very soon. The shuttle would probably be their last interaction with civilised society for a long time.

  All the downtowners were beginning to exchange suspicious looks. As soon as they were downtown they could not trust each other. Any of them could quickly turn back into the lowlife brutes they were and mug the people who used to be their friends. Mark figured that he and Erik had to get away from the shuttle as quickly as possible. He could not trust any of them – that was a strange feeling.

  “All right,” the pilot said over the speaker in mandarin, “as soon as the door opens I want you all gone, got it? I don’t want to be downtown for more than ten seconds. And if any of you refuse to leave the shuttle, well, I’ll have to take you to the police.”

  The shuttle began to descend making Mark close his eyes and pretend that he was still on the estate. He was wondering if he had made a mistake. Maybe he should have stayed with Lord Jordanis. Erik was not going to be happy either way, but maybe he could’ve been happy… and safe had he stayed with Lysander.

  An internal war of his mind ensued. Maybe if I call him once I get Erik safely to Mama’s he will send a shuttle to come and get me, was his first thought.

  The other voice in his mind interjected: he only wanted somebody to knock and he did not care who that was. He would not take you back, and you are strong enough to not even try to get back to him. You made the right choice by returning downtown with the other servants and your brother.

  He liked me a lot. Like loved me.

  He never said that. He just liked what you did for him. . His feelings for you were always just your imagination.

  Then why did he pay special attention to me?

  Because you would let him knock you anywhere at any time and he got satisfaction out of seeing you respond to his touch. The other downtowners were stronger, more resistant. He had to put effort into convincing them or at least give them a worthy bonus to knock them, but with you… you probably would have let him knock you even if he had not given you bonuses.

  Mark began to question why he was so critical of himself in his mind. His optimistic side could never win against his rational one.

  He snapped out of his trance when his chair vibrated. The shuttle had landed. He had been so focused on a mind war that he had not even been aware of the final seconds of their decline.

  The shuttle was parked in a vacant street. They had probably flown out at daytime because they knew less downtowners would be out roaming and it would therefore be safer. The main problem was remembering how to navigate his way to Mama’s apartment in the shadows to avoid the Jhard. He knew from memory that they would have to travel through some dangerous buildings. He remembered being guided through these places by Mama, even when he was still sixteen – the age most considered to be the start of adulthood seeing as their lives were so short – and she made him feel
safe even if she was quite old.

  An odd thought struck him: Knave must have turned sixteen very recently. I forgot to call her and congratulate her.

  It had been quite a few years since he had seen Knave. At least four, almost closer to five. He hadn’t seen Mama for about the same amount of time because he hadn’t gone back to Mama’s house after leaving his first job. He had simply flown straight from his previous workplace to Lord Jordanis’ estate after Erik had been accepted to work there as well. He had spoken to Knave a few times, but Mama’s apartment did not have a communication device so the first time was when she went to work at McCarthy’s eight months back.

  I have not seen Knave since she was a child, he thought. Maybe once we settle back into Mama’s apartment we can go visit her or at least find a phone so we can call her.

  The hissing sound from the door caused him to remember where he was again and he quickly grabbed Erik’s arm and dragged him towards the exit. Erik did not seem happy to be manhandled and tried to remove his arm from his brother’s firm grip.

  “Wǒmen hava to move, xiànshí.”

  “We’ra fine, Mark!”

  His brother ignored him and continued to drag him away from the shuttle.

  “Hé are ya acting so fēng?” Erik growled. “We’ra safe right now. Wǒmen know thesa people. Tāmen are our friends.”

  “No,” Mark shook his head violently. “Bù anymore. Theya be fēng now. All of tāmen. Wǒmen have to get away.”

  “Let go!”

  Erik gave one hard tug and pulled himself free of his brother’s grasp, causing him to fall onto the broken pavement. Mark broke out of his panicky state and quickly went to his brother’s side. He was about to apologise when both of them looked back as the shuttle took off. It was gone as quickly as it came. Now they all really felt abandoned. Now Mark got the feeling that the downtowners, who he once considered to be his friends, would start to show their true colours. After all, there were no civilised eyes watching them.

  Nik, who was the tallest and strongest of the former servant group, was already looking slightly deranged. The announcement about the Olympian replacements had hit him hard and he had never been a stable. From word of mouth, Mark had heard that Nik had actually plotted to kill Lord Jordanis recently.

  He didn’t appear to a major threat, but Mark felt sorry for any downtowner who tried to get in his way. Nik pulled out the knife he stole from Lysander out of his pants and jogged off. From what Mark knew, Nik was the child of the head of a body snatching business and that was probably who he was going back to. Hopefully he would not inform his mother of any of the other former servants’ locations and have her send some people out to retrieve them. Lysander’s former servants had been well fed and were healthy. Much more meat on them than the average downtowner had – of course they would be the targets of cannibalism.

  “Wǒ am gonna miss thesa guys,” Mark said out loud to Erik as they watched all the other downtowners follow Nik’s lead by grabbing out their weapons and dashing off into the downtown wilderness. “C’mon. Let’sa go to Mama’s. Wǒ remember the way.”

  Erik did not give him a proper answer. He just followed behind him with his eyes on the ground. None of the other servants went in the same direction as the two.

  Mark’s underarms felt abnormally damp. After being in Lysander’s air conditioned manor for so long, he had forgotten the heat of the Jhard even if he was not directly in it. He had also gotten used to taking a shower on a regular basis, but that was all gone and he would be forever hot and sweaty.

  I know those are minor things, and yet I simply cannot imagine life without them.

  Mark froze for a moment when he heard voices coming from down the beaten corridor the brothers were travelling through. They did not seem like aggressive voices. It was simply a soft murmur of a group of people chatting. However, Mark knew better than to be underprepared which is why he pulled out the handle of the short sword and clutched it firmly.

  “What’sa that?” Erik whispered. He had wanted to give his brother the silent treatment, but curiosity got the better of him for that moment.

  Mark moved the switch up. His hand shook as the three sections of the blade shot out of each other before he established his firm grip on it. Erik looked quite surprised… and impressed.

  “Lysanda gave zhè to wǒ, but tā said he would only give it to me ifa wǒ stayed with him last night,” Mark explained. He was hoping that would help Erik understand why he did not join him for the final night in their room last night.

  Erik did seem to have a better understanding now. Unfortunately, he did not appear any less frustrated. Mark made the wise decision to talk to him about it in greater detail once they could no longer hear the people talking.

  To avoid coming into contact with the unknown group, the boys climbed out a broken window into the alleyway. The older brother sliced his hand while climbing out the window, and yet he figured this minor injury was better than the ones he could sustain in a scrap with the group of downtowners.

  There was a crumpling sound under his foot as he landed on the other side of the window. He looked down and was surprised to see that he was stepping on part of Lord Koris Young’s face. Without thinking, he picked the picture up with his injured hand and accidentally stained it with blood in the process. It was a pamphlet promoting Lord Young for chairman with half written in Mandarin and the other half written in English – Koris was obviously aware of how downtowners from this area spoke. He looked at the back page and found a small map with the location of the voting machines on their side on it.

  Interesting, Mark noted. I do not recall downtowners ever voting in the elections. I wonder how it’ll go down. There will probably be riots and death if I know my kind.

  And with that, he dropped the pamphlet on the ground and left the image of Koris to be consumed by blood.

  To avoid the sunlight at the end of the alleyway they were standing in, the boys climbed through a window opposite the one they had just climbed out of.

  Erik ran his fingers through his hair. He felt sticky as his fringe clung to his forehead. Like Mark, he could not remember what life was like without taking regular showers. Back when they were kids at Mama’s, they got to take a bath around once a month in a large metal bucket. He had to share his bath with Mark while Knave took a separate one with their used bath water – Mama understood it was not wise to tempt Erik seeing has he had an obvious attraction to the girl.

  “So,” Mark began cautiously, “do nǐ wanna have a talky or something?”

  Erik remained silent for moment. He, like Mark, was not exactly sure what they needed to discuss in order to clear the air.

  “Did wǒ annoy nǐ because I stayed with Lysanda last yè? I’ma, chuàng, Eriky, but tā would not have given me this wǔqì had wǒ bù stayed with him last night, ya know?”

  Erik sighed.

  “Yé, but’s not just about the last night thingy. It seems lika nǐ always chose Lysanda over everyone else. Tā bù even a nice guy, Mark. He was mean to all of wǒmen, even nǐ, but nǐ still liked him. I don’ta understand that. Why woulda nǐ choose a mean guy over me or our péngyǒu?”

  Now Mark was annoyed: “Wǒ neva chose him over nǐ. In fact, I didn’ta pick favourites eva. Wǒ neva thought I hada to until this week.” He sighed aggressively. “And yé, I did choosa spendin’ last yè with tā ova you so that wǒ coulda get a weapon and food, but wǒ am hera now. Wǒ did choose you ova tā in the end, didn’ta I?”

  “Eh? Ya didn’ta choosa wǒ over Lysanda, he got rid of ya!”

  Mark shook his head. He had been reluctant to tell Erik earlier about Lysander’s proposition for him to remain on the estate because he did not want to make Erik feel like he was pulling him away from a better life, but now he wanted to tell him the truth – he wanted to prove just what he had given up for Erik.

  “Lysanda asked wǒ to stay witha him.” Erik’s eyes widened at that. “Tā shuō wǒ coulda stay with him and not ev
en have to do worky thingies.”

  “Eh?” His brother shook his head in disbelief.

  “Yé, and wǒ turned tā down because I didn’ta want to leave ya downtown alone.”

  Erik was silent for a few moments. His expression changed from surprised to angry again.

  “How do nǐ think that makes wǒ feely?” he hissed. “Wǒ don’ta wanna feel like I pulled ya away from that life. Maybe nǐ coulda have lived longa if ye had stayed with Lysanda… Nǐ shoulda stayed with tā!”

  “Maybe,” Mark agreed, semi-convinced. “But then don’ta complain when wǒ does make choices like that. Wǒ chose you over tā in the end. I gave up livin’ a long, safe life so that I coulda protect nǐ. So neva say I always chose tā over nǐ.”

  Erik fell silent. He watched his brother’s body tremble with anger. He could not recall the last time he saw Mark this angry. He was usually so composed and in control of his emotion. Erik understood that he’d maybe pushed this conversation a little too far. He hadn’t wanted to know that he was the reason Mark was not safe at Lord Jordanis’ estate because of him. He would never be able to forgive himself if Mark died when they both knew that he could have led another life.

  “Wǒ’ma chuàng, Mark. Maybe… maybe if ya help wǒ get to Mama’s ya can then go call Lysanda. Is that a hǎo idea?”

  Mark shrugged. He didn’t look convinced.

  “Wǒ bù wanna go back on what I said. Wǒ told tā I would bù stay with him and wǒ won’t.”

  Erik nodded in understanding, but he still felt guilty for pulling Mark away from Lysander under the circumstances. His brother understood this and smiled forgivingly.

  “C’mon, gē, let’sa go to Mama’s. Everything will be hǎo when we get to tā.”

  Had their shuttle landed during the night, half an hour could have been taken off their journey as they would not have had to plan a route devoid of sunlight. Despite the fact their journey was almost entirely on flat ground, Mark and Erik were sweating uncontrollably.

  “Wǒ hopes Mama lets wǒmen use some wata to take a bath with,” Erik joked. “I forgot how smelly wǒmen used to be downtown.”

  Mark smirked half-heartedly. He could not get the sick feeling out of his stomach that something had happened to Mama. Downtown was cruel. What if people had raided her home and killed her… or worse? He thought of the deep scars on his back and the remnants of what used to be his nipples – he knew death was not the worst thing that could happen to a person.

  “Let’sa just see how it goes, hǎo?” Mark said hesitantly.

  Erik gave his brother a look of confusion. Being the younger sibling, he never even thought about different outcomes to the one he expected – he left Mark to be the fearful one.

  Mark held his breath when they turned into the alleyway which Mama’s apartment was on. It was dead quiet, and that was a good thing. Mama had chosen a very isolated and well-hidden alleyway to live on which gave him hope that her house had never been found.

  Erik could not contain his excitement and jogged down the street while Mark kept his pace at a stride. The short sword Lord Jordanis had given him was still in his hand with the blade erect – ready for any surprises.

  He noticed more pamphlets with Lord Young’s face on them scattered across the ground. He assumed that shuttles had dropped the pamphlets and let them rain down instead of actually sending people downtown to hand the pamphlets out which would put them at risk of being killed

  “Careful of light patch thingies,” he called out. He remembered there were a few spots that the Jhard could reach at certain times of day. Erik, being oblivious to these sorts of things, had once burned his shoulder when he ran into one.

  He caught up to Erik who was waiting for him at the bottom of the creaky black staircase that led to the level Mama’s apartment was on.

  “Let wǒ go first,” he warned Erik, gesturing to his short sword.

  Erik was going to have a hard time with that. He wanted to rush straight up the stairs and into her apartment. However, he understood that Mark wanted to be cautious. Now he understood why he had given up living with Jordanis so that he could go downtown with him – Erik certainly needed protecting.

  Mark crept slowly up the stairs. This was because of the fact he was not sure that the stairs could hold him and Erik’s weight now that they had grown up rather than the fact he feared being ambushed. There were no surprises waiting for them at the top of the stairs so Mark felt it was alright to move a quicker pace.

  Although there were no numbers on apartment doors or other ways to distinguish each apartment, Mark and Erik still instinctively remembered how many doors Mama’s apartment was from the stairs.

  “It feels like wǒmen be kiddies again,” Erik joked. Mark could tell by the enthusiasm in his voice that he was excited to see Mama again.

  “Let’sa… Let’sa just stay calm,” Mark said hesitantly. He would not be excited until he saw Mama with his own eyes and was positive she was alright.

  Interesting, Mark thought. All these apartments seem to be empty. Last time I was here most of them were empty, but we did have some nice neighbours who ate dinner with us sometimes. I wonder where they are.

  He could tell these neighbours no longer existed seeing as the door to their house was broken. The metal door had been dented so that it could no longer fit into the wall and so it rested in the centre of the doorway. If the neighbours were still there they would have done something about this. Erik did not appear to notice this detail. He was off in his own little mind thinking about how great it would be to talk to Mama again.

  “Nǐ think wǒmen should knock or nah?” Mark murmured to Erik when they reached the door of their old apartment. The older brother was wondering this because if Mama was not in the apartment, did they want to draw the attention of any other potential person inside?

  “Wǒ sayin’ we justa go in,” Erik replied. He was not waiting any longer.

  Mark very carefully grabbed the handle and pushed the door into the wall. He cringed every time it squeaked or groaned. He hoped he did not alert anyone who was possibly inside.

  Both brothers, regardless of how they had been previously feeling, instantly knew something was wrong when they stepped inside. The air felt dead.

  The apartment was small, and yet quite large compared to other downtowner houses. The ceiling, like most, was high due to the fact Svellik used to occupy it. Because of the darkness, the top of the ceiling could not be seen and appeared to be a never-ending void. The front door led into the main room which had two rooms coming off of it. The smaller was the one Mama had made into a bathroom while the other was where they had slept. Both those doors were closed at the current moment, but Mark and Erik presume the whole house was similar now: barren and empty.

  Everything was gone. There used to be boxes and fabric all over the main room along with a kitchen area in the corner. The children had done murals with charcoal or among other things. That was all gone. All that remained was dust and some new scratches along the walls.

  It’s as if we never lived here, Mark thought.

  “Are nǐ sure this wasa wǒmen de jiā?” Erik asked. He had obviously had the same thought.

  “Yé. It has to be.”

  “What happened?”

  “Wǒ dunno.”

  Mark ran his hand along the wall as he pondered. Had Mama’s apartment been raided? Was she killed in the raid and taken by body snatchers? If that was the case, then why was there no blood on the ground? Why were the murals the children had done missing as well? Why would people remove them?

  She vanished and took everything with her, he concluded.

  “Nǐ bù tā’s dead, do ya?” Erik asked in a voice that reminded Mark of a small child.

  He didn’t give his younger brother an answer. With all the terrible things that could happen to her downtown he almost hoped she had died and was not suffering.

  His hand clenched around the short sword handle when a thud came from behind the door
that used to lead to their bedroom. The two brothers had very different ideas about what the sound came from. Erik thought it was Mama while Mark suspected it anyone but Mama.

  He put his finger to his lips to tell Erik to be quiet as he crept towards the bedroom door. The younger brother tried to follow, but Mark put his hand up and shook his head. Erik didn’t have a weapon, so if anyone dangerous was on the other side of the door he wanted Erik to be out of the danger and able to get away.

  We should really just leave, Mark thought when he put his ear to the door to listen. I know Mama is not in there… and do I really want to meet whoever is in there?

  Unfortunately, curiosity got the better of him and he put his hand on the handle. He exchanged one last look with Erik. His brother had gotten the hint that what they were doing was dangerous and leaned against the wall in the opposite corner.

  Please be Mama, was his last thought as he jerked open the door. That was his last rational thought ever.

  Erik’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest when an animalistic battle cry filled the apartment as a woman, roughly his age, pounced on Mark as soon as the door opened. Mark was obviously in equal shock and unable to defend himself. The deranged woman crashed with him onto the floor before raising what appeared to be a large sharp rock. Erik cried something in his native tongue as she used all her might to bludgeon his brother’s head.

  The women, lost in her own world, did not hear Erik’s shrieking and only became aware of him when he tackled her off his brother. In his rage, he smashed her head against the floor before punching her twice. Unlike Erik and Mark, she was not easily stunned and instantly started to fight back. Her long nails dug into his neck, drawing blood. Erik grunted out of pain. Her grip tightened and he forgot about the pain when he realised she was cutting off his air supply. His attempt to pull back and get off her failed – her nails were deep in his skin.

  It was clear that she had killed many times before. With her hands still on his neck, she pushed him down so that he was lying next to her before she sat up. She was in complete control. Erik began to panic. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been seriously assaulted by anyone who intended to kill him.

  His saving grace was when he noticed that the short sword Mark had been holding was within reach. Erik was no killer by nature, but when threatened he had the animalistic instincts that most downtowners had. He released one of the women’s arms as she continued to choke him and desperately patted his hand along the ground to find the handle again.

  There was a strange moment of silence when he finally managed to grab the handle and drove the sword into the woman’s side. She remained motionless for a moment and Erik used that time to get up, bloody sword in hand. Her first wound was not fatal and Erik did not hesitate to stab her again to make sure she would go down forever. This time it was in the neck. He had meant to get her in the head to put her instantly out of her pain, but he was so exhausted after everything that had happened that day that he missed.

  The strange animal-like woman fell down again while grasping the sword her neck was impaled on. Unable to scream, she made gurgling sounds as blood filled up in her mouth and the life ebbed from her body.

  Erik ignored her and the pain in his neck. He was far more focused on his brother.

  “M-mark?”

  His brother was unresponsive. He lay there blinking slowly and staring into the beyond.

  From Mark’s perspective, Erik was a fading blur and soon he was gone. He lay alone in the room. To his surprise, he felt no pain. The pain in his head had dulled to a negligible numbing sensation.

  He noticed that the entire room was illuminated by the light seeping through the front door when he sat up. At first he thought the Jhard had found their apartment, but this light seemed serene and unthreatening. A part of him knew he would not burn upon contact with it.

  Getting up, he made his way towards the door. It was not the same door they had let themselves into the apartment with. This one was made of a lustrous black material. Mark did not question where this door had come from or where his brother had gone. He simply opened the door and got consumed by the white light.

  A young boy awoke suddenly as if punched in the stomach. He tried to sit up, yet his chest was unbearably sore and he flopped down again. He found himself in a small dark room in which he could only make out the outlines of certain objects such as the doorframe. He had no clue how he got away from the gang of murderous urchins in the alleyway to this strange room. Scared and confused, he began to cry – was he dead?

  He turned his head when he heard the door slide open. A yellow light seeped in from a lamp in the other room which formed the silhouette of a small figure peering through the door. When his eyes adjusted he saw it was a little girl. Her frizzy black hair sprang out in all directions and she appeared to be missing a hand, but it was her face that caught his attention. He had never seen someone with such a happy expression. She beamed with joy.

  “Mama,” she called back, “tā’sa awakey.”

  She then moved away from the door and skipped back into the other room. He saw her take a seat on the ground next to an older boy who had a less cheerful expression – this confirmed he had not woken up in a strange world where everyone was happy.

  A tall skeleton-like figure blocked the light from the doorway briefly and he suddenly grew fearful.

  “It’sss alrrright,” a low, yet soft voice whispered. “You’rrre sssafe.”

  He was very confused by the woman’s speech pattern. He spoke very little of the common languages and could tell English was foreign to her tongue as well.

  Kneeling down next to him, he was able to get a clear look at her face. At first he thought she was human, but now he was not so sure. He had never seen anyone who looked like her. Her joints almost stuck out of her crusty grey skin. She was appeared to be very thin, and not yet weak in any manner. Her body was just naturally thin. Her face was equally intriguing. Her warm voice didn’t match her pitch black eyes and wrinkled face. He had never met anyone who looked as old as her – downtowners did not live past thirty in most cases.

  “Hello, Errrik,” she said. “My name isss Mama.”

  The boy was confused. How did she know his name?

  “Errrik isss yourrr name, corrrrrrect?” Mama asked upon seeing his confused expression. “I hearrrd that name being called out. Wasss sssomeone looking forrr you?”

  While nodding slowly, he twitched his cheek to see if there was still a bruise from where had been brutally struck.

  “And you do not want to be found by that perrrssson?”

  He nodded again, tears welling up in his eyes.

  Despite her strange appearance, fear and confusion seemed to melt away when she stroked his hair.

  “You’rrre sssafe now.”

  The other two children appeared in the doorway. The little girl was tucked behind the older boy as if he was protecting her, but both had reassuring smiles.

  “I’ll prrrotect you,” Mama promised him as he drifted back to sleep. He was still very weak from the loss of blood and needed to rest.

  Erik woke up to the smell of rotting flesh filling his nostrils. He was then reminded that he was sharing a room with two corpses. One was the corpse of a madwoman and the other of his dearly loved brother. Despite everything that had happened, Erik felt rather numb and passive at that moment – he was in shock.

  He had spent the night in their old apartment, but he knew had to leave. There was a chance that the crazy woman had friends and he didn’t want to deal with them.

  He had a hard time looking at his brother as he took his black bag. Mark’s eyes were still open. He almost looked like he was daydreaming rather than dead seeing as he appeared so calm.

  It took a few tugs to withdraw the blade from the madwoman’s neck. With her grey complexion and empty eyes, she looked very much dead, and yet she had looked that way when she was alive as well.

  I wonder if she killed Mama, Erik thought a
s he wiped the blood off the short sword on her shirt, or if she came here after Mama and all of her stuff vanished. He choked back a sob. If only she hadn’t killed Mark. Then he could have gone back to Lysander.

  Erik knew that was probably not really an option. After they had discovered Mama was gone there was a strong chance that Mark would refuse to leave him alone.

  Taking one last look at the two corpses, he sighed before leaving the apartment. Mama’s home was no longer a safe haven and he had to move on – but he first needed to warn Knave of what had happened. There was a hostel half an hour away from the apartment… or at least there was one there before he became a servant for Lord Jordanis. The hostel had a working phone which he could call Knave on and then he could spend the night in the hostel using the money he and Mark had earned as servants. The plan sounded simple, and yet it was rather dangerous to execute. He would certainly have to be more attentive and careful now that Mark wouldn’t have his back.

  I have to thank Lysander for one thing, Erik thought as he looked down at short sword. Some of the madwoman’s blood still tarnished it. Her blood was also going to leave a permanent stain on his mind. He had never killed another human being until that point – that was a rite of passage for fully grown downtowners. After everything that had happened through all the years, that would mark the moment he lost his humanity.

  She killed Mark, she had to die, he assured himself. Mark was innocent, she wasn’t. I was not in the wrong by killing her.

  A strange thought hit him: I don’t know what her name was. Surely she had one. I wonder what moments in her life led her to survive up until our encounter. Certainly someone had to raise her because a child could not survive down here on their own. Maybe she had a Mama-like person in her life. Maybe she’s what I will become now that nobody is around to help me keep my sanity.

  Erik dreaded the idea of becoming a madman just like most other downtowners. Mama had tried to protect him from that life, but after killing once, he knew he could do it again if he had to. That was probably why Mark was dead and he was alive – Mark could never kill another person and therefore he was unfit for downtown.

  The Jhard had not peaked above the canyon yet so Erik would be able to travel in the streets. Then again, other downtowners would also be able to travel in the streets so he had to be extra cautious.

  The path to the hostel was fuzzy in his mind. Mama had shown him the directions as the hostel hosted the only news notice board on northern side of downtown. She took him there first when Mark needed to know where to go to apply for being a servant and then she took Erik there when it was his turn to become a servant.

  He sneered when he turned to look down both sides of the alleyway. The madwoman had done a number on his neck. He assumed that she had left a few scratches, but because he did not have a mirror, he didn’tt realise that his neck was blood-stained with dark bruises from where she had gotten a firm hold on him.

  I don’t want to encounter anyone else like her, he thought as he rubbed his neck.

  By the time he reached the hostel after an uneventful journey he was completely sweaty again. Looking up past the uptown skyways he could see that the Jhard was getting higher in the sky, but its heat could be felt at any time of the day.

  To Erik’s luck, the hostel appeared to still be open and looked as rugged as ever. He knew that the hostel probably had some protection from some body snatcher groups. There was a strong chance they had a deal that the groups could steal some of their guests, and yet it was still one of the safer downtown locations.

  Erik’s stomach became restless as he neared the hostel. He hoped he was not in for another madwoman situation like the day before. When he opened the doors his stomach eased slightly. There were multiple downtowners in the lobby area of the hostel. They were either reading the news notice board or in the line to use the phone – none of them looked like they were about to try and kill him. To his own surprise, they were all giving him suspicious looks seeing as he was the one with new bruises on his neck and a bloody sword.

  I don’t care what they think. I’m not putting my sword away, he thought while avoiding eye contact. Most of them are probably carrying hidden weapons so they know better than to judge.

  The old light flickered above him while he waited in line to use the phone. This was not the ideal place to make contact with Knave for the first time in months. Everyone in the lobby would hear his conversation which meant he had to be careful about what he said. He could say Mark had died, yet he could not tell Knave that he had killed the madwoman.

  “Shì de, the stuffy thingies are waitin’ at the zhǐ,” the man who was currently using the hostel’s phone mumbled quietly.

  While trying to be inconspicuous, he had only made people pay more attention to him. Erik knew the man was discussing illegal activity, the real question was whether he was calling another downtowner or an uptowner. Barely any downtowners owned phones so there was a good chance he was doing illegal business with an uptowner. Then again, if that was the case, why would they speak in a fractured mixture of English and Mandarin instead of formally?

  Erik licked his lips while he eavesdropped on people’s phone calls. He was desperately thirsty. He did have water, and yet it was a death sentence to reveal any food or drink in public. The water would have to wait until he had checked into a room for the night.

  After what felt like hours he finally found himself browsing the phone directory in search of McCarthy’s details. After Mama had vanished and Mark had died he prayed that Knave was alive and safe. And if he was lucky; maybe she knew what happened to Mama.

  “Hello,” the man who answered said formally in Mandarin after muttering to someone he was near. He had obviously recognised that Erik’s caller ID was from downtown so he would most likely be resilient. “You have reached the help desk of McCarthy’s Haven for Children. How may I help you?”

  “Wǒ, uh, is Knave there?” Erik said in fractured Mandarin and English despite that fact he had been taught by Lord Jordanis to always speak in the same language he was greeted in.

  The man instantly broke back out of his formal act and went straight into his natural downtowner way of speaking: “Who’sa askin’?”

  “Tā de brotha. Look, tell tā that Erik is on the phone thingie.”

  “Alright,” he growled, “but just know that I’lla be listening to make sure you ain’t trying to mess with her.”

  During the pause that the man left the photo to go find Knave, Erik pondered two assumptions he had made in that thirty seconds. The first was that the man was from the southern part of downtown seeing as his natural language appeared to be English. The second assumption he made was that the guy was quite protective of Knave – was he possibly in a relationship with her or just a protective brother-like figure? Erik was jealous either way, but he wouldn’t ask her anything about that. He had for more important things to discuss with her.

  “Hāi?” a soft woman’s voice said cautiously after a few seconds of silence. How Erik wished this phone had a camera so he could see Knave’s face.

  He laughed out of relief before taking a deep breath.

  “Knave, is thata nǐ?”

  “Yah, and thisa be Erik?”

  “Uh huh.” He laughed again. “Yeah, it’sa wǒ.”

  “This’s so fēng. How are nǐ? How’sa Marky… and where are nǐ calling from? Nat told wǒ that nǐ were callin’ from a downtown numba.”

  Erik bit his lip. He was not sure how to break all the news to Knave.

  “Uh, yeah, wǒ am.”

  “Wèi shé?” Now Knave sounded worried. “Didn’t ya work at Lysanda’s?”

  “Yé, but wǒmen got booted ‘cause he bought some new blond thingies to replace wǒmen.”

  Knave gasped. “Oh, Erik. What are nǐ gonna do? Is Marky with nǐ? Can wǒ talky to tā?”

  “Uh, méiyǒu.” He glanced back at the line to see how intently everyone was listening to his conversation. Most of the downtowner
s were lost in their own thoughts, and yet some were staring directly at him. “No, Mark’sa dead.”

  He heard Knave let out a small, short gasp as if she had just taken a hard punch to the chest. He figured ‘Nat’ had come to her rescue as he heard a concerned male voice mumbling to her.

  “Whata happened?” she asked in a voice barely above a whisper. She had to keep her voice quiet so that it did not crack.

  “Wǒmen went to Mama’s jiā. Tā wasn’ta there… It looked like tā bù been there forever. But there was a nǚ there and, uh, tā killed Marky.”

  Erik heard Knave sniff. She was doing her best to hold herself together even though she was shocked and saddened simultaneously.

  “So Mama hé Marky are both dead?” she asked between sobs.

  “Wǒ don’ta know what’sa happened to Mama, but Marky i–”

  “I’ma sorry, Erik. Wǒ just have to…” she was so distraught she could not even finish the sentence.

  “No, děngdài!” Erik yelled desperately, but she had already hung up.

  He leaned his head against the phone box for a moment as he tried to come to terms with everything. Unfortunately, the downtowner behind him in the line had grown restless and shoved him out of the way. Erik staggered as he tried to keep his balance on the uneven lobby surface.

  You’re lucky that I’m still trying to be a good person, Erik thought with a spiteful look in the downtowner’s direction while he clutched his short sword.

  He kept his composure and instead strolled over to the lobby desk. There was a glass window laced with sharp wires that separated him from the so-called receptionist. She was smoking a red cigarette while polishing a previously bloodied knife – Erik knew to take that as a bad sign.

  “Wǒ wanna get a room for, uh, two nights,” he said to her. He figured he would need two nights to get his head straight and start planning what he was going to do with his life now.

  Her bloodshot eyes met his.

  “Nǐ got the yuan to make a reservation thingy?

  Erik reached into his black bag and started digging around for his card. He wanted to keep Mark’s card safer seeing as he had more money on it after sleeping with Jordanis so many times. He could afford to lose his own card providing he kept the other one safe.

  He had more yuan on there than I thought, Erik realised when he saw Mark’s card underneath his own. The digital display number was almost as seven-thousand yuan which was an insane amount for a downtowner.

  “Hǎo,” the receptionist said after Erik’s payment went through and was displayed on her tablet. “Nǐ will be in room two-seventeen on the floor liǎng .”

  She gave him an odd look when he continued to stand there rather than going up to his room.

  “Shénme? Do nǐ need anything else or ya just fuckin’ with wǒ?”

  “Wǒ, err, don’ta wǒ need a key or password thingy?”

  She cackled as if that was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. Erik looked around cautiously. He wanted the receptionist to keep it down when they were discussing money and security.

  “Wǒmen don’t do lock door thingies, bǎobèi. Now, scat.”

  Erik gladly did so. He’d intentionally paid for the more expensive rooms in hopes that they were more secure. Hopefully any body snatchers would only go to the ground floor rooms of the hostel in search of fresh meat. It was only after he was walking up to the second floor that he considered he had actually exposed himself more by paying more for a better room. Paying for better quality tipped people off that he had a fair amount of yuan and therefore they could trying to steal from him in the night.

  He bit his lip. I should have paid for a room on the first: not too poor and not too rich.

  The hostel hallways had minimal lighting. Only a haunting greenish light every several metres that was very faint, yet it was amazing when any places downtown had electricity which made Erik further question what connections the hostel had to have to uptowners or powerful downtowner groups.

  It took a while to fine room two-hundred and seventeen seeing as many of the rooms were missing some numbers. He eventually found a room that had a two, space then a seven and decided it was a safe guess. Yes, there was a chance it was actually another number like two-hundred and thirty seven and that another madwoman would be waiting for him, but he was so exhausted that he was willing to take that chance.

  After flicking the light switch, the green light revealed that his room was empty in every sense of the word. No madwoman was there… and there was no furniture either in the three-by-two metre room. The only significant thing in it was a dark stain on the wall. The lighting made it difficult to tell whether or not it was blood, and Erik didn’t really want to know the answer.

  For safety reasons, Erik removed his right dress shoe, courtesy of Lord Jordanis as part of his servant uniform, and wedged the toe of it under the door. He did not care if it got scuffed seeing as his shirt and vest were already covered in blood. All he cared about was making sure it would be difficult for anyone else to creep into his room while he was sleeping. It would not halt anyone desperate to get in, but the casual opportunist may change their mind if they struggled to discretely slide the door open.

  Erik slumped down in the corner and opened the black bag again in search of food. He was surprised when he heard a crinkling sound and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Reading the front, his heart skipped a beat when he realised it was a note addressed to Mark – no doubt it was from Lord Jordanis.

  This isn’t mine to read, he told himself when he decided to tear the note into two pieces and let the bits float to the floor. He wasn’t sure if Mark had ever read the note if Lord Jordanis had secretly slipped it into the bag. Erik hadn’t seen his brother open the bag once so he had to assume that he hadn’t been able to.

  He considered what kind of things the letter said, yet thinking about that made him think about Mark so he tried to direct his mind down a different path. He was not in the headspace to deal with what had happened yet.

  To take his mind of the note to Mark, he grabbed a small apple out of the bag and thought about that instead. Grown in Lysander’s conservatory, it was soft and bruised, but still looked edible which was all that really mattered. While eating, he couldn’t control his thoughts as he wondered what he was going to do about eating once he ran out of food in the bag Lysander had given Mark. Since his time with Mama he had not eaten another human being, but his life before Mama was another story which he chose to forget.

  Wait. What did I eat at Mama’s apartment if I didn’t eat people?

  They had eaten almost every day, and yet he had no clue what they’d been devouring. He had certainly never asked Mama. Maybe they had eaten people – what else was there to eat downtown? It was almost literally a dog-eat-dog world.

  And he had thought he was pure until he had killed that madwoman. No, he had always been a true downtowner.

  I should not be thinking like this right now, he reminded himself. Just get a good night’s sleep and you can worry about everything tomorrow.

  Erik had extreme difficulty falling to sleep. Every sound woke him up from his light doze because he knew every sound meant potential danger. It also didn’t help that he was sleeping on the ground and using his arm as a pillow. It turns out the beds Lord Jordanis had provided the servants with had been a luxury even though they made his back sore.

  Mark had always told him that they were lucky to be staying with Lysander – now Erik knew he was right. Mark would know better than anyone. It had taken a few months for his brother to open up about the horrors of his previous master who had made Mark sleep naked on the ground at the foot of their bed… unless they made him sleep in their bed. He had applied to the same employer, Jordanis, as Erik because he wanted to protect his brother from the horrors he had suffered.

  That is probably why he loved Lysander so much, Erik thought drowsily as he tried to get back to sleep for the fifth time. Lysander was so different from his previou
s master that he seemed like a great guy even though he was cruel in different ways. Mark’s original master damaged him physically and mentally, but Lysander was manipulative and twisted Mark’s mind.

  Uptowners are just as bad as downtowners.

  He sat up instantly when he heard a man scream down his hall. It was possible that the body snatchers had arrived. Nonetheless, the amount of commotion that followed the scream didn’t seem as discreet as body snatchers would be.

  The blade of the short sword resided within the handle and it was too dark for him to find the switch that released the blade. That gave Erik the idea that the darkness would be his friend. Standing up, he went to turn off the lights before following the walls back to his corning and crouching down. He figured that even if the door to his room was open, it would be too dark for anyone to see him.

  He was less scared than he expected himself to be in this situation. That was probably because he was in a dream-like state where his environment did not feel real. If he was able to really comprehend the predicament of his situation his heart would explode.

  He did finally move his thumb over the switch that released the blade, and yet he chose not to move the switch up. It would probably work to his advantage if his assailants underestimated him and thought he was defenceless. Then he would be able to unleash the blade at the last moment and they would hopefully be too shocked to react so he could take them down.

  Don’t start thinking about killing again already, he warned himself. Those people may not even come by this room and yet you’re still planning their deaths.

  To his own dismay, the commotion did appear to be heading his way as he heard more hostel doors being aggressively opened and disgruntled downtowners trying to fight with whoever was doing this. Erik could tell there was quite a large group of attackers which probably meant they weren’t body snatchers who usually travelled in twos or threes.

  They were alarmingly close to his door now. How he prayed they would not see him. He froze when he heard his door jiggling as the person on the other side tried to get it open. That was when he remembered that he had jammed his shoe under the door. That was not going to keep them out, but it would probably give them the hint that somebody was in there.

  The door slid all the way open when the person applied more force. In the archway stood a masculine figure silhouetted by the green light behind them. Erik squinted when their flashlight was aimed directly at his eyes – his attempt at hiding had failed miserably.

  “Stand up,” the man demanded mundanely. Apparently the chaos his group had created had no impact on him whatsoever.

  Erik figured that complying was the best option. The man had a large gun and friends with equally big guns while he only had a sword. Trying to attack was futile. He instead slid the handle into his pant pocket and threw his black bag over his shoulder as he stood up.

  His body jolted when a loud bang came from the corridor followed by a woman’s scream and the thud of a body hitting the floor. Again, the man in front of Erik seemed unfazed. He was obviously quite used to this.

  “Hands behind your head,” he commanded. Erik did so. “Now, come towards me.”

  He’s an uptowner, Erik realised. That explained why he had a gun, but what was an uptowner doing in a rundown hostel?

  There was a fresh corpse on the ground that Erik had to step over in order to follow the group of uptowners. They appeared to be the one resistor of the uptowner group seeing as everyone had gotten the message after they shot him dead.

  Erik was almost relieved that it was uptowners causing the commotion. They were all wearing black and blue uniforms which suggested that they were some sort of professional organisation and hopefully they didn’t intend to kill all the downtowners. It would be amazing if this was all just a bureaucratic dispute that would be resolved with paperwork rather than guns. Erik had worked uptown long enough to understand that uptowners generally tried to avoid intentionally killing people unless they were a major threat – and he certainly was no threat.

  He was the only one who seemed calm out of the downtowners. Most of them had never encountered uptowners and had only grown up hearing disturbing stories about them. They were all positive that they were going to be killed even if they didn’t know the reasoning behind it.

  Their nerves certainly did not ease up when the svellik joined them on the first floor. Most of them gasped or became paralysed with fear. However, Erik did not fear the svellik like most other human beings. It was probably because they vaguely resembled Mama and he associated her with good things.

  If anything was going to keep downtowners silent and compliant, it was going to be a svellik. Not one sound came from any of the downtowners as they passed by the winged creature. Some looked at her in awe while others kept their eyes on the ground because they feared she would bite.

  The svellik joined the uptowner at the back of the group as they herded all the downtowners into the street in front of the hostel. A firm hand pushed Erik to his knees on the filthy ground and he didn’t resist.

  “Eyes on the ground,” the man behind him commanded. Everyone complied out of fear of the svellik.

  Erik kept his head low, yet he did manage to see the secretary of the hostel talking with someone other women who had her back to him. She looked as if she was arguing, but not to the point where the other woman was getting annoyed with her. After the other woman said something, the secretary sighed and pointed to one of the downtowners on their knees a few people away from Erik.

  The other woman spun to see who the secretary was pointing at. Erik, and many other downtowners, gasped when they saw her face. Her skin was ten times darker than almost everyone in the population. She certainly was not from Manticore, but most downtowners did not know what humans looked like on other planets so she was quite shocking.

  I know her, Erik realised. She was at Lord Jordanis’ party. What’s she doing down here?

  “You were told to look at the floor,” Chief Nikhita Kothari warned the downtowners, “not at my face. Anyone who does otherwise will have their eyes removed.”

  She pointed to the same man as the secretary had. The man standing behind Erik quickly moved to hoist the man to his feet and bound his wrists. Erik was confused why the Oxen Security force had made such a commotion about collecting just one man. He didn’t look like a significant man, just another scraggily downtowner. Then again, he was the same man who had made a call in front of Erik and was speaking like an uptowner.

  “I’m sure most of you know that there was recently an attack on the Parliament House,” Nikhita explained while pacing in front of the downtowners. “Well, most of you probably don’t know that, but I digress. Important politicians were killed that day. A missile killed them, a missile that came from around this area. We were tipped off about a terrorist group that calls themselves the ‘Rebellion’ that has formed downtown and may be in cahoots with disgruntled uptowners which would explain how they got a missile.” She patted the bound man on the shoulder. “This man is suspected of controlling that missile and now he will pay. If any of you are part of, or know about, this Rebellion group then, please, speak now. You will not be harmed if you confess right now.”

  Dead silence. Even if any of the downtowners knew anything, they were too afraid to speak. Nikhita guessed that this would be the case, but they got the man they wanted so it didn’t matter.

  “Alright.” She sighed. “Then get up and go back into the hostel. It’s all over now.”

  None of the downtowners moved until the Oxen Security guards forced them up and shoved them in the direction of the hostel at which point they quickly scurried away. Erik stood up as well and began to head for the hostel.

  “Hey,” Nikhita said behind him. “You, in the red vest.”

  Knowing the she was referring to him, Erik cautiously turned around. Once she had his attention she passed the downtowner to the svellik and another security member.

  “Ghoad, take him to level seventy
-three and put him in a cell. We’ll deal with him tomorrow,” she told them.

  “Yesss, Chief,” the svellik replied before dragging the stunned downtowner to a shuttle.

  Erik looked around awkwardly, not sure what to do. Being in the presence of the House of Oxen Security was intimidating, yet Nikhita seemed calm and non-threatening. She took a step closer to get a better look at him.

  “You worked for Lord Jordanis, didn’t you?”

  Erik cleared his throat. “Uh, yé, err, yeah.”

  She smiled, but it did not seem sincere.

  “Yeah, I remember you from the party. I’m Nikhita Kothari. What’s your name, kid?”

  He had a mind blank. What was his name?

  “Err, Erik. Yeah, Erik.”

  Nikhita raised an eyebrow before she spoke again: “What are you doing down here? Oh, did Lord Jordanis replace you with Olympians?”

  Before he could answer Ghoad joined them. She had thrown the downtowner into a shuttle, but chose to fly with her own set of wings.

  “Will that be all, Niki?” she asked.

  The Earthling turned the svellik around so their backs were to the downtowner. They discussed something inaudibly before Nikhita laughed and said goodbye to Ghoad. This situation made Erik feel the most uneasy even though he didn’t seem to be in any apparent danger.

  “So Erik,” Nikhita began when the svellik was gone, “is this hostel where you’re staying at the moment?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Well, I don’t think this place is very safe for kid like you. Would you like a better place to stay until you can find another job?”

  The boy was stunned. He had not even considered getting another uptowner job, but why would this woman he barely knew offer him a place to stay?

  “Eh?” he mumbled in confusion. He thought there was a good chance he had misheard her.

  “I have a two bedroom apartment. You can stay in my extra room if you would like, you know, until you can find another job.”

  The downtowner was unsure of how to answer. He wanted to say yes, but he would not be able to give Nikhita anything in return.

  “Um…”

  She laughed. “Erik, you can stay in my apartment for the week or so and we’ll see how it works out, sound good?”

  “But,” he hesitated to finish that sentence. He felt he was not worthy of being in her presence due to her beautiful skin. Being an Earthling, she was better and more beautiful than anyone on Manticore in his eyes. Unfortunately, he chose the worst words to explain his naïve belief: “But you’re a darky. You’ra so much betta than w… me.”

  Nikhita’s eyes changed from warm to ice in a second. She had to take a deep breath before she overthought what the idiotic downtowner had just said. She had to cut him slack due to his lack of experience around people with different skin tones based on the fact that he was an isolated downtowner. She had dealt with a weird form of racism on Manticore for years now. Manticorians seemed to think she was superior due to her skin colour. It came with undeserved benefits like free stuff, being allowed into VIP clubs and probably was the reason she climbed the job ladder so quickly. It was sick, but she enjoyed the benefit of looking better than others. It was a guilty pleasure. So if the uptowners treated her like this based on race, it was no surprise the downtowners did as well, yet Erik was so much more blunt about his awe that it felt more racist.

  “Well,” she growled as calmly as she could, “okay then. Erik, do you know what racism is?”

  “Nuh uh,” he said while shaking his head. He had a childlike innocence about him. Well, a childlike racial bias about him.

  “Never mind,” she muttered. “I would just recommend not calling people ‘darkies’.”

  Erik did not seem to understand why, but didn’t object.

  With that, Nikhita gestured for him to follow her towards her personal shuttle. Erik swallowed and slowly trailed behind her. He knew it was safer with Nikhita, and yet he felt more at home downtown and was unsure if he was decent enough to return to the sane world. After all, he had already killed another human being and it had been less than forty-eight hours.

  She directed him to the backseat of her shuttle sitting in the driver’s seat. As the shuttle door closed, Erik noticed the other House of Oxen Security members were giving him odd looks. They were obviously just as confused as he was about the whole situation.

  “Thank you,” Erik quickly said when he remembered that it was the polite thing to do. He would usually say it in Mandarin, but Nikhita seemed to prefer speaking English.

  “Not a problem,” she said distractedly as she started up her shuttle. He was disturbed by how casual she was acting about the situation.

  It was only a matter of minutes before the garage door to Nikhita’s apartment was closing behind them. Once it was safe to leave the shuttle – the Jhard was now rising in the sky so the light could burn them – Nikhita hopped out and gestured for Erik to do the same. It was strange; she hadn’t said a word to him since he entered the shuttle. This was different to when he first arrived at Jordanis’ estate and Lysander would not shut up about protocols.

  “Now is probably a good time to tell you that you will have a roommate,” she warned him when they reached the door between the garage and her main room. “You’re cool with that, right?”

  The boy nodded. He’d never had his own room so he had almost been anticipating having a roommate even though Nikhita had stated she had two bedrooms.

  There was a male sitting stiffly on the couch in the main room. He turned his head the instant the door opened to stare at Nikhita and Erik with his unnaturally electric blue eyes.

  He’s an Olympian, Erik realised. I lost my job because of his kind.

  “Good morning, Chief Kothari,” the Olympian said placidly. “May I ask who your accompanier is?”

  Nikhita did not reply right away. She instead took off her belt, which held her gun among other things, and chucked into onto her kitchen counter.

  “Erik, this is Proteus. Proteus, this is Erik,” Nikhita said while checking updates from Ghoad on her phone.

  The Olympian stood up and stepped around the couch. He was not wearing the uniform Erik had seen the other Olympians wearing when they arrived at Lysander’s estate. He was instead wearing a brown hooded jacket and black jeans – clothing so casual that he looked unnatural in it.

  “Ya bought an Olympian thingy,” Erik noted aloud.

  “No,” Proteus stated in a defensive manner – which was something a normal Olympian would not do even if Erik didn’t know it.

  “Well, not really,” Nikhita agreed. “Proteus is in a situation more like yours than anything else. “He’s staying here because he needs a place to stay. I don’t own him.”

  Why would an Olympian need a place to stay? Erik thought, but did not ask.

  “He’s going to share a room with you,” she explained to Proteus.

  “Why?”

  “It’s complicated, I’ll explain later.” She then turned to the downtowner. “Erik, have Proteus show you your room and then I would recommend you take a shower.”

  You smell like a corpse, Nikhita thought, noting the blood on the boy.

  “Perhaps he requires medical assistance,” the Olympian stated. “His wounds are susceptible to infection.”

  Nikhita took a closer look at the boy. Sure enough, he had gruesome scars on his neck.

  “How’d that happen?” she asked him.

  Erik bit his lip. He did not want to tell her about the madwoman he had been forced to kill. Nikhita picked up on his resistance and did not pester him for an answer – she was sure she could get one out of him if it was necessary.

  “Well, let him wash away all the blood so we can get a good look at what we’re dealing with.”

  Proteus nodded and started walking towards his room. Erik assumed he was meant to follow and did so. He did glance back to see what Nikhita was doing. She appeared to be taking a call while entering her home office�
�� her home office that had racks of guns on the walls along with blueprints and photos of people. Although intriguing, he knew she had a top job in security so it did not seem out of place. She glanced at Erik while talking on the phone before sliding the door shut. The door clicked loudly suggesting she had locked it. Again, it did not seem strange that she would lock the door to a room full of guns when she had a downtowner she barely knew in her home.

  “This will be your bed,” Proteus explained as he pulled the spare from the wall before opening the drawer next to it. “And you may use that drawer for your possessions,” he said while eyeing Erik’s bag.

  Erik did place his bag in the wall drawer. His pant pocket became heavy when he remembered that the short sword was in there. That was placed into the drawer as well, but he put it under the black bag as a pathetic attempt at hiding it.

  Once in the bathroom, Proteus quickly ran him through the instructions. Erik was to remove his clothing and put it in the washing machine and then it would be ready once his shower was done.

  “What’sa the time limit for the shower thingy?” the downtowner asked. He presumed it was around thirty seconds.

  “There is no time limit. It is grey water so it’s not as valuable. I would recommend not drinking it,” the Olympian replied before removing himself from the bathroom without another word.

  The shower was different from the one he was used to bathing with. He was used to a brief carwash-like scenario where water shot at him from all directions. This shower was more like Lysander’s personal one in which case the entire roof of the glass case rained down tiny droplets.

  He cringed when the cool water hit the wounds on his neck. It took a little while for the stinging sensation to fade away after which Erik quickly went through the routine of washing himself, yet he did not turn off the water when he was done. Watching the water cascade of his nose, he contemplated everything that had happened seeing as he was now out of any foreseeable danger and had time to reflect. The entire situation was surreal. He did not feel like himself anymore. Instead, he was a bodiless force just witnessing everything happen to a different person.

  Mark and Cal are dead, Mama has vanished and Knave won’t even talk to me.

  Erik’s tears were lost in the grey water as his defensive mental barriers and adrenaline finally melted away. He didn’t understand why everything had changed so quickly. Why did everyone have to die?

  Outside in the main room, Proteus’ sensitive hearing instantly picked up on the fact that Erik was crying. He turned to Nikhita who was on the couch next to him doing her work on her tablet.

  “The downtowner appears to be crying, should we console him?”

  Nikhita shook her head, but did not look up.

  “No,” she said impassively. “He’ll be fine.”

  “Please stop moving your head,” Proteus requested as he dabbed the antibacterial ointment with a cloth onto Erik’s neck. There was something so icy about the Olympian’s voice that it unnerved the downtowner. Had he encountered any other Olympians he would know that Olympians default was to smile and speak enthusiastically – that was not the case with Proteus.

  Erik was having trouble with the blond man’s request. The stinging sensation made his head instinctively jerk and that fact his neck was a ticklish area did not help. He could sense the Olympian’s strength as he firmly dabbed the wounds. The man could snap his neck, yet there was such precision in his movement that it was clear he had complete control over strength.

  “Those are very nasty wounds,” Nikhita said in a concerned manner. “The area around the punctures is pretty inflamed and you’ve got some bruises that suggest this was a disturbing attempt at strangling. Am I right? Did someone try to strangle you?”

  Erik had to think for a moment. He did not know what strangled meant. He knew its synonym, ‘choke’, and assumed Nikhita was referring to that.

  “Um, a nǚ, err, girl choked me and her nail thingies were sharp.”

  “What was her outcome in this fight?” Proteus asked.

  “Uh… I dunno.”

  Proteus stopped treating his wounds for a moment.

  “You are lying to me, why?”

  “Err…”

  Nikhita understood the implications: “Leave it, Proteus. It’s none of our business.”

  The Olympian gave her a semi-annoyed look. He seemed quite resistant to taking orders for a person designed to be a servant.

  “It would be wise for me to inspect his body for other injuries,” the Olympian suggested while covering the neck wounds with artificial skin patches.

  The downtowner shook his head. “I’ma not hurt anywhere else.”

  “I would advise a second opinion on that.”

  “Sounds good,” Nikhita agreed while standing up. “You do that while I give Lysander a call. First, though, give me a smile, Erik.”

  The downtowner was confused until he realised Nikhita wanted to take a photo of him with her phone. The corners of his mouth twitched a little, but he wasn’t in the mood for smiling.

  “Bingo,” she said semi-sadistically. She then sent the image to Lord Jordanis with the caption “look what I found”.

  Maybe I should wait for him to call me instead of calling him, she thought. She was interested in how long it would take him to respond.

  Erik was uncomfortable with having the Olympian touch him more and squeezed his limbs. He ignored the situation and instead watched as Nikhita answered the phone. Lysander had called back very quickly.

  “Oh, hāi,” Nikhita said smugly before waiting for Jordanis to respond. “Again, Oriya is not my native language. I…Yeah it’s… I found him in the northern part in a cheap hostel… No, he was alone.”

  The downtowner gave her an odd look when she gestured for him to take the phone.

  “He wants to talk to you,” she explained.

  Erik was hesitant. He hated Lysander and didn’t want to talk to him – especially not about what happened to Mark.

  “Hello?” he mumbled. He figured it was best to address his former master in English seeing as Jordanis seemed to prefer that language.

  “Where’s Mark?” the other man asked instantly. Erik could hear the anxiety in his voice.

  He sighed.

  “Marky’s dead.”

  The other end of the line was disturbingly silent for a few long seconds.

  “Oh,” Lysander finally said in a passive tone. “My condolences, Erik. May I ask what happened?”

  “You don’ta get to know,” Erik snapped. “It’sa none of your, err, business thingy.”

  He blamed Lysander for his brother’s death. Had Lysander let everyone keep their jobs none of this would’ve happened.

  “Fair enough,” Lysander said, pretending the downtowner’s words did not bother him.

  Unfortunately, Erik wanted to bother Lysander. He wanted that man to hurt.

  “And tā, err, he neva saw that piece of paper ya put in the bag thingy.”

  Again, Lysander did his best to sound unfazed: “Understood. Now, put me back on with Miss Kothari.”

  Erik realised he was being sadistic, but he was disappointed that he didn’t get to Lysander like he wanted to. That man was horrible, he should hurt for jettisoning his former servants and leaving them to die.

  Nikhita gave the downtowner an odd look as she took the phone back from him.

  “Yeah… Okay. Zàijiàn,” she said to Lysander before hanging up on him.

  “Erik appears to be irritated,” Proteus noted. The boy’s eyes were red and his fists clenched.

  “I’ma fine,” he snarled with a crack in his voice.

  “I do not understand your desire to lie.”

  “Proteus,” Nikhita hissed. “Drop it.” She then glanced at Erik. “I think he may just need some rest. Erik, do you want to go to sleep for a bit?”

  “Uh huh,” he quickly replied. He wanted nothing more in the world at that moment.

  Proteus and Nikhita watched Erik get up an
d quickly stride into his new bedroom. He heard them start talking quietly with each other as soon as he closed the door, yet he was not nosey enough to wonder what they were talking about. He had had quite a lot of energy since he got off the shuttle with Mark, but as soon as Nikhita mentioned sleep he felt exhausted.

  He’d spent the last two nights sleeping on a floor, so even the thin mattress of the pull-out bed felt as soft as a marshmallow. The downtowner made no attempt to remove his shoes or vest – he was asleep as soon as he hit the pillow. Nevertheless, his mind was full of anxiety which affected his dreams. Erik in recent years had not had many nightmares and that was because he was a slight sleeper.

  During his daytime nap Erik had a frightful dream. He was back in Mama’s empty apartment with the ceiling that was a black hole leading to the oblivion. Mark lay below him, his face horror-struck as his brother raised the jagged rock and smashed it down onto his head. There was a cracking sound as Mark’s skull split. He died with the first blow, yet Erik continued to bash his brother’s head in. Eventually, his brother’s face was completely gone and the deranged version of Erik stopped. They were both motionless for a moment before Mark’s corpse reached up and grabbed Erik around the neck.

  The downtowner jolted awake with a scream. Of course, his screaming did not subside when a firm hand landed on his shoulder and electric eyes stared him down. He cried something in his native language and tried to move away from the Olympian before Nikhita opened the door.

  “Erik?” she looked quite on-edge because she had partly expected that her little downtowner friend had gone mad and tried to kill her Olympian.

  “I believe he suffered a nightmare,” Proteus explained after the boy stopped screaming. He then looked back to Erik. “I do not recognize the language you were speaking. It is not an official language of Manticore. What language is it?”

  “Not the time, Proteus.” Nikhita sighed. “Why don’t you go start dinner while I chat with Erik?”

  It’s already dinner time, Erik thought. I slept for the whole day.

  The Earthling took a seat on Proteus’ bed across from Erik. He was relieved that she didn’t look annoyed and looked more or less concerned. He found it interesting that she could change between sadistically cocky and calmly maternal. Although Erik was not very good at reading people, he understood that Nikhita was being secretive and could easily change her personality based on her state of affairs.

  “What’s up?” she asked casually in an attempt to not make the situation feel like a counsellor meeting.

  “Uh, bad sleep thingy.”

  “You mean a nightmare?”

  “Uh huh.”

  Half of her mouth twitched into a frown that said “well, that’s a shame” in a compassionless manner.

  “That’s understandable. I presume you’ve been through some pretty traumatising shit over the past few days, haven’t you?”

  The downtowner nodded. He was not entirely sure what she had said and nodding was his primary response when he did not understand what something.

  “Do you feel well-rested?” He nodded again. “Okay. Then I was thinking Proteus and I would make dinner for the three of us and then you and I would go for a walk so you could clear your head.”

  She understood he was not in the mood for talking when the boy responded with another nod.

  “Alright then, I’ll call you when it’s dinner.”

  She then closed the door to his room and went to help the Olympian with dinner. As soon as she did, he fell back. The nightmare had almost been more exhausting than anything else that had happened to him recently.

  Although Nikhita considered it to be a simple dinner, it was nicer than the servant meals he had eaten at Lysander’s estate. It was also a lot spicier than anything he had ever eaten.

  “I’m going to guess you haven’t eaten a lot of Indian cuisine,” Nikhita joked as Erik guzzled his water.

  “It is not a popular gastronomy on Manticore,” Proteus explained. He did not realise Nikhita was joking. “Uptown Manticorians generally eat Chinese meals along with a minimal Western European cuisines while downtown Manticorians generally eat… anything available.”

  Nikhita sighed. She found Proteus quite annoying.

  Erik’s throat felt like it was on fire and the water didn’t seem to help. He was used to eating very bland meals so even the smallest amount of spice was a shock to him.

  “Would you like me to make you a different meal?” Nikhita asked when she realised the boy’s eyes were watering based on how spicy the meal was.

  “Nah,” he choked out before letting out a surprising laugh. “Wǒ, err, I like it.”

  Nikhita shared his laughter.

  “Good, because we eat a lot of it around here.”

  Erik smiled lukewarmly. He feared that his oesophagus would disintegrate within a week.

  Proteus remained behind to clean up while Nikhita and Erik took a walk through the skyways. The downtowner was perplexed by the Olympian. He knew that the Olympians were designed to replace servants so why did Proteus seem so annoyed about Nikhita requesting that he do the dishes? If all Olympians were like that then they were a horrible replacement for the downtowners.

  “Do ya know what kinda job thingy I can get?” Erik asked the Earthling as they walked through the transparent skyway. “’cause I thinka the yellow-haired boy thingies kinda have all the jobs now.”

  Nikhita sneered.

  “That’s a good question. I can only think of one job right now that the Olympians cannot do… and I’m not sure if you’d like it.”

  “What’sa that?”

  “Well, did Lord Jordanis ever knock you? Imagine that except every day and only getting paid for that.”

  Erik intertwined his fingers – a gesture he often did when he felt uncomfortable. He didn’t want that job. Giving himself to Lysander had been fine as it had only happened four times and that man knew how to make it less awkward and more pleasurable for the both of them. Sex was fine Erik, yet the situation Nikhita was explaining sounded more like what had happened to Mark with his original master which had damaged his brother’s self-esteem and sent him spiralling into depression.

  Nikhita understood that that job sounded horrible to Erik and decided to give him hope: “Well, if Lord Young wins the election his first act of business will be to get the Olympians protected by the Servants Union which means people will have to pay them like Lord Jordanis paid you. So if that happens, we may find downtowners and Olympians coinciding in the work place.”

  The boy nodded happily – he was more easily convinced than his brother had been. There was a chance that he could get a job, but what would it be like without Mark looking out for him? That was a weird thought. Being as alone as he was terrified him and suddenly crushed his hope.

  “Do you want to talk about what happened to whoever Lord Jordanis was referring to over the phone?” Nikhita asked as she watched the downtowner’s expression repeatedly change. “It might be nice to talk it out.”

  Erik did not answer until they chose a road to go down at the fork in the skyway. Nikhita appeared to be leading him towards a bland grey building with the words KING CO. in bright letters on it and then the Mandarin translation underneath.

  “The lady who made my neck all bleedy killed my brother,” he said solemnly.

  “Did you kill the woman?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Good.”

  That response surprised him. Nikhita kept revealing her darker side and it made him uneasy. She didn’t seem to have the intent to hurt him, but he feared what she would do if he crossed her.

  “What was your brother’s name?”

  “Err, Mark.”

  She had heard him say that name earlier when he referred to his brother as ‘Marky’. There was also a good chance she had heard Lysander mention that name on various occasions whenever he talked about servant obedience.

  “Lord Jordanis really liked Mark, didn’t he?”


  Erik had to think. Lysander seemed to have a serious issue revealing his true feelings and hid them under indifference and cruelty. If he loved Mark he certainly avoided trying to prove it. Part of that was the class difference that would blemish Lysander’s public image and another part was the man’s unresolved psychological issues that hindered his ability to express honest affection. Erik thought of Lysander more one-dimensionally as just a mean man who hurt his brother’s feelings. If he had a better understanding of how the human mind worked he would probably come to more conclusions about his former master.

  “Marky was Lord Jordanis’ favourite servant, but I dunno how much he really liked him. He just liked knockin’ my brother ‘cause my brother really wanted to be noticed.”

  “Oh,” Nikhita exclaimed with a surprised laugh. “That’s a very cynical way of looking at it, but then again you’re probably right. If I know anything; it’s that Lysander doesn’t love. Seriously, you’ve seen his son. That kid’s fucked up because he can’t gain daddy’s approval.”

  Erik had seen Lysander’s son, but he could not recall a time when he every spoke directly with him. Princeton was quite reserved and remained in his room for days on end without emerging once. As Nikhita put it: he was fucked up.

  “Why are we goin’ in here?” he asked when they entered the KING CO. building.

  “Because I thought seeing the sky at night out in the fresh air would be nice for you. And we won’t get caught going to the top of KING CO. because the svellik were only forced to give up the rights to this building last year which means no security measures, save a locked door, have been implemented,” she explained. Erik noted how her eyes became icy when she mentioned how the svellik were forced to give up the building. As a downtowner, he didn’t know much about human-svellik relations, yet even he knew they were not good. Nikhita appeared to empathise with the svellik based on the way she described it.

  “What woulda happen if we did get inta trouble?”

  She laughed. “I doubt the cops would come after me. Seeing as I’m the Chief of Oxen Security, the police and I often work together so I know most of them. Like the hostel mission this morning was a joint job.”

  “But what if wǒ, uh, I got in trouble? Would they put me back downtown?”

  Nikhita thought for a moment. She was not sure what the legal ramifications were for letting a person who lacked an uptown citizenship or work visa stay with her. It was probably just a fine of some sort which she did not mind – it was the police division’s job to know this stuff, not hers.

  “Oh, lucky us,” the Earthling exclaimed when she realised the door to the building was open. “There are probably cleaners in there and maybe a security guard, but they won’t mind us.”

  The tinted windows of the building looked directly at the Parliament House which was about a kilometre away. Erik gazed at the strange upside-down pyramid with moderate awe. From downtown he could see the Parliament House’s base plus the building’s shadows over the rest of the city and from Jordanis’ estate he could see the top of it, yet he had never seen all of it at once.

  The pair took the stairs to the top of the building rather than the elevator which had been switched off. If Erik hated anything, it was flights of stairs. He could handle one or two sets of stairs, but eight was ridiculous.

  “You got to exercise more, buddy,” Nikhita laughed. Years of being in the Oxen Security force meant staircases would not make her break a sweat. Her heart rate had barely elevated while Erik felt like his heart was about to burst through his chest.

  The boy was relieved when he was met a cool gust of air as Nikhita opened the door to the top of the building. Although he had spent much of his life outside when he lived downtown the air seemed so much fresher uptown – probably because it did not reek of faeces and rotting corpses.

  “I come here a lot because the top of my own apartment building is off-limits,” Nikhita explained as she took a seat on a large duct and patted the spot next to her, gesturing for Erik to join her.

  “Ya’re an Earthy, right?” he asked when he took a seat.

  “Yes.”

  “Does the Jhard thingy for Earth kill or can ya go outside when the Jhard is awake?”

  “Well, the star Earth revolves around is called the Sun and it usually doesn’t kill people. It’s hot in a lot of places, but anyone can go out in the daytime without dying.” She examined her hand. “That’s why I have darker skin than you.”

  “The Sun thingy burned ya?”

  “Kind of, but no. I doubt you know what ultraviolet radiation is and how skin colour changes to regulate it.” Erik gave her an utterly confused look. “Let’s put it this way: people who live in very sunny places develop darker skin so that they don’t burn. The Jhard is too hot for us to go outside at daytime so Manticorians have very pale skin because they never get any sunlight.”

  Erik understood most of what she said, yet his natural bias would still assume that Nikhita was more valuable than other people due to her richer skin tone.

  The Earthling flopped back so that she was lying on the duct. Erik followed her lead and allowed himself to rest. Staring up at the bright lights in the sky always made him happy. Stargazing on top of this current building allowed him to see the whole sky rather than a few stars and then have the buildings and skyways block the rest of his view.

  “You don’t get views like this on Earth,” Nikhita whispered more to herself than Erik.

  “What does the sky thingy look like on Earth?”

  Her face went cold. “At least where I come from; smog destroys our view of the sky. Even on rare where the sky is clear, the city lights in the biosphere are too bright so we cannot see any stars.”

  Erik gave her a confused look. “I was told Earth was super nice.”

  “That’s how it used to be, but I wasn’t around when the planet was good. Manticorians watch Earthling television shows and movies that make the planet look pretty, but it’s all lies.”

  “Why?”

  “Because humans are leeches. We destroy our own finite resources out of arrogance and the unwillingness to change. Then, when our own planet is exhausted, we fly away from our mess and go destroy new planets. Why do you think the svellik hate humans?”

  Erik shrugged.

  “This was all theirs, Erik. Then humans arrived and took advantage of the svellik kindness by stealing their land and resources. Once the svellik started to rebel the humans used poisonous gas to kill them which is why there are so few svellik left. There’s an urban legend that all the humans used so much poison gas that it still lingers downtown which is why downtowners are at higher risk of disability”

  The downtowner didn’t understand even half of what Nikhita had said. He only picked up on the fact that Nikhita was explaining why svellik and humans were not friends.

  “So if ya don’ta like Manticore are ya gonna leave like ye left the Earthy thingy?”

  “When the time comes, yes. Unfortunately moving planets costs a fuckload so it’ll be a while.”

  The pair remained silent for a few minutes and admired the stars. Then Nikhita stretched her arms out above her, intertwined her fingers and cracked her knuckles.

  “Well, it’s been two months and I’m horny, so how ‘bout it?” she asked in a matter-of-fact manner.

  Erik had no idea what ‘it’ was and gave the Earthling a puzzled stare.

  “I’m basically asking if you want to knock,” she explained while sliding off the duct into a standing position.

  “Eh?” Erik was utterly surprised. “Ya wanna knock wǒ, err, me? But you’ra –”

  “I swear to Kali that if you call me a darky one more time I will hurl you off this building,” she said jokingly even though her words were very threatening. In a much younger era, having a woman threaten to throw a man off a building would have been laughable, but Nikhita was strong while most downtowners, like Erik, were barely more than a sack of bones so there was no doubt she could pick him up and thro
wn him.

  “I justa mean, um, I woulda like to do the knocky thing, but you’ra too pretty for me.”

  It’s just skin, Nikhita thought with a blasé expression. Get the fuck over it.

  Erik gasped as she removed her jacket. She was wearing a navy short sleeve shirt underneath with a V-neckline that revealed more of her skin.

  Racist or skin fetish? she questioned.

  “I’ll ask again; do you feel like knocking?”

  The downtowner nodded enthusiastically and hopped off the duct to join her. In that moment he forgot all about Cal, Mama and Mark. His mind resorted to a primitive desire for sex.

  11

  Lord Koris Young woke up to the oddest information: his rival had lost some public approval due to comments he made during a meeting that were leaked to the media.

  “Mǒu wù wrong with tā,” Andromeda stated in a concerned manner as they watched the news together.

  Lord Jordanis now had to hold a press conference due to the comments he made at the House of Dragon’s meeting the previous evening. Koris did not know how his rival could turn it around after apparently stating that he “didn’t care anymore about anyone this wretched planet”. Although he was aware of his sadism, Young couldn’t have been happier that his opponent had cracked.

  “I will not deny that I made some insolent remarks yesterday,” Lord Jordanis explained as he stood at the podium. “However, I do wish to explain that I was not of right mind last night during the meeting due to personal issues that have since been resolved. What I said does not reflect my actual opinion of our fine city and planet.”

  Regardless of what he says, he doesn’t get to come back from comments like that so close to the election day.

  The press conference ended surprisingly quickly after Jordanis answered a few questions. He acted flustered even though he wore a nonchalant expression.

  “Āi, Mel,” Koris turned to face his daughter as she stepped out of her bedroom, “has Princeton shuō anything about tā de father acting strange?”

  Melody ignored him and instead began making her breakfast. She refused to be her father’s spy. Koris knew he was in the wrong to ask her that which is why he didn’t push for an answer.

  His phone buzzed in his shirt pocket. To his surprise, he had received message from Lysander.

  Jordanis: Fancy lunch together at 12 today?

  “Lysander wants to have wǔcān with wǒ,” he told Andromeda in a fearful manner. “Tā de up to something.”

  “Or he’s a lonely línghún who wants to have lunch with nǐ.”

  “Ó, nǐ are not take pity on tā, are you?”

  Andromeda shrugged – a move she had learned from Flick.

  “Tā looks sad.”

  “Whenever wǒ get sad nǐ always tells me to ‘man up’.”

  “That’s because it’s easy to make you bēi. Something big had to happen to make a nánrén like Lysander sad.”

  “Are nǐ suggesting wǒ depressed or emotionally unstable?” he asked with a scowl.

  “Just message Lysander back saying nǐ will join tā for lunch.”

  “But I’m busy all day.”

  “Nǐ aren’t at lunchtime.”

  Her husband sighed in an exasperated manner. Andromeda knew that, deep down, Koris had the attitude of a twelve year-old girl. If she could put up with Melody’s drama, she could certainly handle his.

  Young: Where?

  Jordanis: The café on the 132nd floor of the PH. That way we don’t have to leave the building.

  Young: Fine, see you then.

  Koris knew his final message sounded a little begrudging, but Lysander knew that the two of them were not chums so their lunch would not going be casual.

  Flick and Perseus emerged from their room once they realised everyone else was awake and moving about. To Koris’ surprise, Flick didn’t look solemn like he did every other morning. He couldn’t recall the last time Flick woke up in a good mood. Although he didn’t want to admit, Andromeda was right about an Olympian being good for the boy. He really did need a lot more company than most.

  “Can I take Percy to the museum thingy today?” he asked.

  Andromeda and Koris exchanged a glance – Flick never wanted to leave the house without Koris. The progress he had made was very obvious.

  “I don’t see why not,” Andromeda said on behalf of her and her husband.

  “What do you want to show him at the museum?” Young inquired.

  “They have a whole thingy on Eden which kinda looked cool.”

  “Do you mean an exhibition?” Perseus asked. He had trouble understanding what Flick meant when he said ‘thingy’.

  “Uh huh.”

  “Have fun,” Koris mumbled sourly. He knew very well that the Museum of Manticore was doing an exhibition on Eden simply to help promote the Olympians as well. The message: you cannot go to Eden, but you can take a piece of it home with you.