Zodiac

by Romina Russell

  When he speaks, I have to reassess everything. His silky soprano sounds way too feminine to be a man’s voice. Not effeminate, not female, just different from any voice I’ve ever heard.

  “I wish to hear more of this unusual story,” purrs Morscerta. “Mother Rhoma, will you agree to meet us here tomorrow for a continuation?”

  “I can be here at daybreak.”

  • • •

  By the time I reunite with Mathias and his parents, Hysan has disappeared. Sirna agrees to meet us at the embassy later.

  It’s been a long day, but I’m glad to be with the Thaises, heading back to their quarters. I miss being near family.

  As we walk through the city streets toward the village, the high-tension fabric sky glows lead gray in the early dusk. The neighborhood around the Plenum lies quiet, thanks to new security blockades. The scene feels almost peaceful, despite the soldiers patrolling in armored cars.

  Amanta wears a handsome blue cloak draped around her shoulders, and her shorter husband wears an ordinary business suit and skullcap. On the surface, Amanta and Egon seem like a mismatched couple; but the more they talk, I realize they share the same calm sensitivity and responsiveness to each other that all Cancrians value.

  “Mathias tells me you’re helping with the resettlement,” I say. “Are you working with Admiral Crius?”

  Amanta looks at me and frowns. “Crius died in the quake. We’re working with Agatha and the Matriarchs now.”

  I stumble. “But . . . Admiral Crius ordered me home just this morning. He sent Dr. Eusta by hologram to tell me.”

  “You must be mistaken,” she says, shaking her head. “Crius died many days ago. I’m sorry, Rho.”

  I almost run into a streetlamp. Was somebody masquerading as Dr. Eusta?

  If so, who? Mathias looks at me questioningly, but I shake my head, not now.

  As we walk, Mathias occasionally scans nearby roofs and alleys through his field glasses, while Egon speaks in cool, measured phrases about the Cancrian exodus. “Most survivors have emigrated to Gemini’s mining planet, Hydragyr, our nearest neighbor.”

  At least they’ve found shelter, but the image of my water-loving people entombed in the hot, dry beryllium mines of House Gemini turns my stomach. I’m about to ask how they’re faring there, when Mathias shoves me to the pavement.

  My hand and knee scrape the ground hard, and all I feel is Mathias’s weight on me, shielding my body with his own. Through a sliver of space, I spy a particle beam cutting a bright sizzling line across the wall above us.

  “The alley!” he shouts to his parents. “Take cover!”

  He helps me up, and the four of us sprint into the dark narrow gap between two buildings. My heart is hammering my chest as more beams hiss around us. Mathias draws his weapon.

  “What’s happening?” asks Egon. “Why are they shooting?”

  Amanta flares a laser torch into the depths of the alley, and we see it’s a dead end. “Keep low,” she says, and I notice she’s also clutching a weapon in her hand.

  Hot lesions slice across the walls, and shards of granite fly up. These fiery beams are meant for me. . . . Ochus must have seen my Plenum speech, and now he’s fulfilling his threat.

  Mathias scans the nearby roofs. We’re trapped. Without thinking, I start edging toward the street. All I know is if I show myself, Mathias and his parents can get away.

  I never should have dragged Mathias into this. I shouldn’t have let him come on what was always a suicide mission. I won’t let him—or his family—die for me.

  “Keep still!” Mathias slings me around and crushes me against the wall. “I see the sniper.”

  Particle beams fizz into our alley, etching the pavement with flames, so we retreat farther back. Mathias keeps scanning the building across the street, and Amanta, who’s also wearing field glasses, does the same. “Looks like two men, at least,” she says.

  She and Mathias take aim at an upper window, although the only thing I see is a dark pane of glass. Can Ochus be hiding behind that glass, looking back at me this very minute?

  I could end this now. It feels like an easy solution, if only Mathias would let go of me.

  “I can’t get a good shot from here,” he whispers, turning to Amanta. “Mother, please keep Rho safe.”

  “Mathias—” I reach out for him, but Amanta takes a firm hold of my arm. Her grip is like iron.

  “I will,” she says. “Do what you must.”

  “Mathias, DON’T!” I shout.

  He’s already scaling the alley wall. It’s solid concrete, and the seams he finds to jam in his fingers and toes are almost invisible. He moves so fast, he’s practically swimming.

  Three stories up, Mathias fires his laser, and the window across the street shatters. Particle beams hiss back at him, cratering the wall above our heads. He ducks behind a cornice as concrete explodes around him.

  I blink in the spray of dust, trying to see if he’s okay. “Mathias!”

  Amanta inhales sharply. “Egon, hold her,” she says, passing me to her husband as if I were a bag of nar-clams.

  Then she steps toward the street and starts firing her own laser at the window. Volleys sizzle back and forth, and the smell of burnt concrete sours the air. Egon holds my head against his chest, trying not to let me see.

  The horrible noise builds and builds, until it’s over. And then silence is worse than sound.

  “They’re retreating.” When I hear Mathias’s familiar baritone, I break loose and run to him. He drops down from the wall to the alley floor, and I see an ugly burn on his arm.

  “You’re hurt—”

  Pulling me into a hug, he presses a hard kiss on my forehead. “Doesn’t matter. You’re okay.”

  There’s a flutter overhead, and I look up to see the faint shades of three large, birdlike creatures silhouetted against the fabric sky. Mathias aims his laser, but his mother says, “It’s all right. They’re friends.”

  The bird-shaped devices glide across the street and enter the broken window, merging into darkness. Whatever they are, they seem to absorb almost every photon of light.

  “Cancrian Secret Service. Ambassador Sirna sent them.” Amanta parts her cloak, and in the dimness, I see she’s wearing body armor underneath. She draws a fresh laser cartridge from her belt, breaks open her weapon, and reloads it.

  “Holy Mother has made enemies here,” she says. “We feared there might be trouble.”

  “It was Ophiuchus,” I say.

  “We’ll track the shooters down. Trust me, we’ll find out who did this.”

  Mathias steps toward her, and they press the backs of their right hands together. Such a simple ordinary gesture, and yet I can almost feel the current of emotion flowing through their touch.

  “There may be other snipers.” Amanta steps out to check the street, then motions us to follow. “Keep to the shadows. We’ll need to hide Holy Mother in the safe house tonight.”

  • • •

  Amanta guides us to Sirna’s safe house.

  As soon as we enter a side door, we pass through the pale blue rays of a biometric security scan. Then she leads us down a flight of stairs, through a steel gate, and down an elevator to a deep sub-basement. After another bio scan, she opens a pair of thick, heavy doors, and we enter what feels like a vault. It’s strange to see Cancrians using so much stealth technology. It’s not our style.

  The common room has a wallscreen, a couple of faded sofas, a kitchen alcove, and a lavatory at the back. Doors on either side lead to small bunkrooms, and in the center of the room, Sirna is waiting.

  “It’s good to see you unharmed, Guardian.”

  “I need everyone to keep their Ephemerii away from here,” I announce in a loud voice. Now that I’m almost certain Ochus knows I’m on Aries, he might be able to track me down through peo
ple using the Psy near me.

  “Mathias has already informed us that everywhere you enter must be kept free of devices connected to the Psy,” says Sirna. “He said the people behind the attacks have been using Psynergy against you, and that’s why you can’t do your readings.”

  I look at Mathias. His father is tending to his arm. It’s hard to stick to any decision I make about him. Just when I think I can’t forgive him for not believing me, he goes and saves my life.

  “About the troops gathering on Phobos,” says Sirna, giving me the briefing she tried to give earlier, when I stormed out of her office. I wouldn’t listen before, but as she shares more details, I begin to understand the wider implications. “My agents have infiltrated their subterranean camp. They call themselves the Marad, and they are being funded by someone with deep pockets.”

  “They’re the ones who stirred up the worker revolt on the Sagittarian moon,” adds Amanta, “and they may be behind . . . other terrorist attacks as well.” It’s clear she meant to say what happened to our moons and Virgo, but she doesn’t want to contradict me publicly.

  “We think they’ve established cells in every House,” says Sirna.

  “Who are they?” asks Mathias. “What do they want?”

  “We don’t know their objective yet. The recruits are mostly teenagers. Unemployed Scorp dropouts. Child laborers from the Geminin mines. Impoverished slum dwellers from Phaetonis. Risers from every House.” Sirna touches her blue brooch and gets a faraway look, as if she’s listening to a private message.

  A Riser is a person born into the wrong House. It’s a change that happens when a person’s exterior persona conflicts so strongly with their internal identity that they begin to develop the personality and physical traits of a different House. And it can happen at any age.

  Most people handle it well and either choose to stay on their home planets and continue living their lives, or move to the House that reflects their rising persona. There are rare cases where the change doesn’t take well, and a Riser can have an unbalanced ratio of personality traits from their new and old Houses. Sometimes it deforms them. Sometimes it turns them into monsters.

  “Are they being brainwashed?” I ask.

  She drops her hand and looks me in the eye. “They’re being fed, clothed, and welcomed into a group for the first time in their lives. You might call that brainwashing.”

  Amanta lifts off her heavy armored vest. “We count fewer than a hundred thousand troops so far, but new recruits arrive daily.”

  “The expense to house and train them must be substantial,” says Mathias, his voice distant, like he’s lost in thought. “You don’t know who the backer is?”

  After a moment, Sirna says, “We’re trying to track the money flow. No single individual could afford so much. We suspect a wider conspiracy.”

  Egon finishes bandaging his son’s arm. He’s been quiet throughout the discussion, but now he asks, “Do you think some of the Houses might be in league, like the Trinary Axis of old?”

  “That’s what we fear most,” whispers Sirna.

  Everyone falls silent. No one wants to believe that could happen again.

  Amanta drops her bulky gear belt on the floor. “Please keep this information to yourselves for now. We can’t expose our covert agents in the field.”

  I nod and look away, wondering where Ophiuchus fits in. Could he be funding the army?

  After a while, Egon switches on the wallscreen, and while they watch a newsfeed about the escalating Sagittarian conflict, Sirna steps into the kitchen alcove to put on a kettle for tea. I follow her in and lean against the cooler. “Why don’t you believe me?”

  She spoons tea leaves into a cast-iron pot. “Since the crash of our moons caught everyone off-guard, my agents have searched day and night for reasons. Your classmate’s messages steered us to Ophiuchus. We’ve investigated your story.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. That trail is dead.”

  My fingers curl tightly. “You mean you can’t see him.”

  “Guardian, use your head.” Sirna lays down her spoon and faces me. “The secret army on Phobos is our real concern. Whoever’s funding them almost certainly hired those snipers tonight. They’re your enemy, not some big bad from a children’s tale.”

  I have to struggle to stand still. Her sarcasm, like Mathias’s doubt, makes me too furious to form sentences.

  “Forgive me, Guardian,” she says, setting out a row of teacups. “Duty demands that I speak the truth to you. Duty can be a harsh master.”

  “Keep looking for Ophiuchus then. That’s an order.”

  “As you wish, Holy Mother.” She gives me a curt bow. “I’ll look again.”

  I start to leave. Then, grudgingly, I turn back. “Thanks for helping us tonight.”

  She pours the boiling water. “I live to serve Cancer.”

  • • •

  The safe house clock says it’s early morning in the Ariean capital, two hours before the Plenum convenes. Mathias and his dad have gone up to street level to check for snipers.

  Now, for the first time in weeks, I find myself in the company of only women. After living for so long with a pair of testosterone-driven males, I’ve almost forgotten what a feminine atmosphere feels like. Ambassador Sirna and I aren’t exactly two pearls in a nar-clam, but on the surface at least, we’re calm.

  Amanta hums softly as she polishes my much-abused boots, while Sirna clips off the ragged ends of my fingernails. I wish they wouldn’t, that they would let me take care of myself, but they insist on keeping every tradition alive, even in these times. I think that to them, letting go of the little things means we’ve given up the big ones.

  Sirna seems slightly less hostile to me this morning. She believes some of the ambassadors plan to blindside me at the Plenum, and whatever she thinks of me personally, she won’t tolerate an affront to our House. “Charon of Scorpio is stirring things up, but he’s just the talking head. Someone else writes his script. We don’t know who.”

  “Why can’t I speak first thing? Ophiuchus could attack again any minute.”

  “I don’t set the agenda.” Sirna puts her nail clippers away. She’s brought me a tailored azure court suit and a simple coronet with the Cancrian glyph outlined in silver. She had the coronet made overnight, and I know it’s not really for me. It’s to honor our House. She says the Guardian of Cancer should look the part.

  I want to snap at her that I couldn’t care less about clothes right now—only I remember that I don’t represent just me anymore. I now stand for every Cancrian. So I sit still and let them dress me however they like.

  The vault doors swing open, and the men come in, looking grim. “We’ve spoken with the local army unit,” says Mathias. “They’re sending us an escort.”

  “Have you made notes for your next speech?” Amanta asks me. “You could rehearse with us if you like.”

  I shake my head. “Thank you, but I don’t think anyone in this room wants to hear it.”

  Sirna purses her lips. “I must speak the truth, Guardian. You’d be wise to retract certain points that seem . . . unreasonable. Say you were mistaken. Keep it simple.”

  “You mean Ochus.”

  Her ebony cheeks soften. “Guardian, you’re so young. You’ve barely trained. Can you honestly say you’re so certain of what you saw that you would gamble the reputation of House Cancer and let slide this opportunity to unite the Zodiac?”

  A flash of heat surges up my neck, searing my cheeks, nose, and eyes, and I can feel the tantrum, the storm of tears, the meltdown I’m yearning to have at the unending injustice of it all.

  I’ve done what they asked. I read the stars, and I swore to always act in the best interest of Cancer. That oath led me to sacrificing everything I would rather be doing—searching for my family, helping rebuild my home—and it
’s sent me all over the galaxy on a crazy quest that’s made me the laughingstock of the Zodiac.

  And now my own people want to turn me into someone I’m not.

  I knew when I accepted the Guardianship that I would be giving everything up. But there are some things I have to hold on to, if only for the sake of performing my duties in this role. Integrity is one of them.

  “I’m certain, Sirna.”

  29

  WE TAKE SIRNA’S ARMORED CAR, flanked by soldiers on hover-scooters, and I feel a rush of relief when I see Hysan already waiting for us at the hippodrome.

  His hair is freshly trimmed, and he’s dressed more elegantly than ever. His court suit is a shade of purple so deep it’s almost black. He grins at the coronet in my hair. “Lovely.” Then he gives me a closer inspection. “You didn’t sleep well.”

  “She was ambushed in the street last night by snipers,” says Mathias.

  Hysan’s eyes grow wide. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  I nod, and Mathias starts describing the attack, but he stops midsentence. At the far end of the hall, students are waving Cancrian banners and chanting my name. Fifty of them at least.

  “Rho! Rho! Rho!” They rush toward me, snapping my picture with their Waves and trying to touch me, until Mathias intervenes and hustles me into the ruby stair pipe.

  Inside the arenasphere, hundreds of holograms drift overhead, a circus of pixilating colors. Below, the tiered seats are full. Dozens of micro-cameras swarm around us, and we swat them away as we weave through throngs of spectators toward the stage. As usual, Mathias goes first, opening a path.

  When Mathias’s back is turned, Hysan’s hand closes around my wrist, and he pulls me away to a secluded corner of the arena.

  He turns to me in the shadow of an emergency exit, where no one is close enough to hear. I sneak a glance at the crowd—Mathias is going to worry when he notices I’m missing.

  “Rho, I’ve thought it over, and I’m going to address the Plenum today,” says Hysan, speaking loudly over the arena noise. “My ambassador is already getting me a timeslot. I’m going to reveal my true identity.”