by Laura Lam
She met Clo’s gaze, and the other woman bowed over the firearm she was taking apart. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?” Clo asked them, her expression reluctant.
They all exchanged looks.
Nyx spoke first. “Why don’t we start with the good before getting to the steaming pile of shit?”
“I’m pretty sure we can make this weapon. I’m also pretty sure I can make it in time.”
Eris let out a breath of relief. “And the bad?”
“I don’t have any guarantees Damocles’s engineers won’t figure out how to retrofit it and use it to kill a bunch of people. We ought to plant a convincing fake.” When no one responded, she made a noise in the back of her throat. “We’re talking about a theoretical genocide, people. Come on. Look a little more alarmed.”
“Clo’s right,” Rhea said softly, looking at the specs. “I know Damocles. If you give him this, he won’t use it to protect the Empire—he’ll use it to destroy everyone else. This isn’t the weapon of a leader; it’s the weapon of a conqueror.”
Ariadne chewed her lip. “I can make it basically disintegrate after five uses,” she said. “Just needs a little bit of a solution . . . here.”
Nyx didn’t look convinced. “And if Damocles makes a full scan of it before he shoots it five times? And he updates it to the Oracle’s database?”
“Maybe he won’t?”
Clo set down the tools, rubbing her temples. “Nyx is right, Ariadne. If they crack this, we’ll be responsible for more deaths than the Battle of the Garnet. A hundredfold.”
They all went quiet, and the four women looked at Eris. She had to do this. She had to earn Damocles’s trust. At this very moment, he was probably having his experts run a search on Zoe Eirene-X-2 to make sure her alias was legitimate. It would hold for now. But if she went there tomorrow with nothing, that alias wasn’t going to save any of them.
Fuck. Someone had to make the hard decision here. Let the deaths be on her conscience, to keep company with all the others.
“I know the risk,” Eris said quietly. “But a fake will only get us all killed, and then there will be nothing stopping Damocles from whatever he’s planning. Ariadne, put everything you can into the failsafe. Just get it made.”
25.
CLO
Present day
The weapon Clo and Ariadne created was the worst possible thing they could put in the hands of any person, let alone a Tholosian. Let alone Prince fucking Damocles.
While constructing the weapon from Ariadne’s schematics, Clo had wished she were a little less skilled at this. Ariadne’s specs were a decent guideline, but they weren’t perfect—they were created by someone who had very clearly never held a weapon in her hands.
Clo was different. She had taken apart and put together so many different weapons back in the Snarl: old and new, retrofitted, experimental designs. Her knowledge had helped fill in those last gaps in Ariadne’s schematics. Without those small differences, she still would have produced something impressive. But not one that made her think, upon its completion, that she had made a huge mistake.
What have I done?
It was too late to change the design back or come up with something else.
“Send the updated schematics to Kyla,” Eris said to Ariadne. “If something goes wrong, we’ll need the engineers at Nova to know what they’re working with and give our side a fighting chance.”
Ariadne nodded and sat next to Clo, the same guilt radiating off her small frame. She pinged in Kyla’s details and sent off the design. The whole command center was quiet—every woman lost in her own thoughts.
“You don’t have to come,” Eris said as Clo checked over the weapon. “I know Damocles murdered your friend. If this is too much, you can stay on the ship with Rhea. The others and I can handle this.”
Clo pressed her lips together. Briggs. She missed him so much that every year, on the anniversary of his death, she got completely sluiced just to forget.
“No,” she said. “Anything goes wrong with the weapon, I need to be there to fix it. I made changes to Ariadne’s design.”
“Okay.” Eris helped Clo settle the weapon into a suitcase, and they sealed it up tight. “Clo?” she said softly. “I’m sorry for this.”
Clo blinked in surprise, then ducked her head. Eris was holding their creation, and she knew how it was going to be used. Yet more sacrifices to the God of Death. “So am I,” Clo replied.
They arrived again at the palace, per Damocles’s instructions. The guard led them to a grand conference room that curved around the north side of the compound, giving them a glimpse over the mountains. During the few days they’d spent on Macella, Clo had pondered this view as closely as she had Ariadne’s weapon schematics. This time of day, mist began to coil along the ground. By the time they returned to their ship, it would be knee-height.
Macella was the most populated planet in the galaxy—even more so than Tholos. Aside from the courtesans in the Pleasure Garden, the Archon allowed only the upper echelons of the Empire to reside on that planet with him. Macella, in contrast, was home to even the aedifex and opifex classes. The buildings rising from the mist were not as precarious and tight as the slums on Myndalia, but they spread as far as the eye could see.
The Three Sisters had very little farming land aside from the two moons that orbited Macella and Tholos, so most had to be imported from other planets. It was a weakness the Empire was well aware of—if a bottleneck were ever created with supplies, the population of these three planets would grow hungry quickly, and it would weaken the rest of the Empire.
The situation with Charon was bad enough that it ought to have necessitated a move to another planet—perhaps even outside the galaxy—were it not for the second problem: Macella had the most drinkable fresh water of any planet in the Tholosian Empire, fed from the mountains.
Even the Evoli desired the freshwater resources of Macella, which was no doubt why they agreed to the truce in the first place. The Tholosians could not leave such a precious resource vulnerable.
Clo knew Kyla had mulled over the possibility of interrupting the supply lines—with Charon’s resources all but gone, it would have been a decisive victory over the Empire—but the commander grappled with the morality of starving out civilians. It would make the resistance no better than their enemy. For now, all they could do was increase their numbers and prevent Imperial expansion as best they could.
With this weapon, Clo felt as if they were going against everything the Novantae had fought for.
Prince Damocles waited for them in the conference room. Through her Pathos, Clo heard Rhea swear; the other woman was watching the video feedback in the ship’s command center from the eye implant Ariadne had received from Kyla with the supplies.
The women all bowed to Damocles. Clo gritted her teeth, tightening her grip on the weapon case. It was light, perfectly built for speed in battle. Another feature Clo knew she would come to regret.
“General.” Eris fell back into Zoe’s slightly twangy Solarian accent. “It’s so good to see you again,” she said. “I notice your guests are still here. Hosting another ball?”
“It’s the same ball,” Damocles said. “It lasts five nights.”
“Five nights?” Eris rested a hand against the hollow of her throat. “I hope it’s not driving you to madness.”
“As you can see, my sanity remains intact.”
“And here I am, making more demands of your time.”
“I prefer discussing weaponry, I assure you.”
“So do I. Must be the pirate in me,” Eris said with a flirtatious smile.
Clo made the smallest sound in her throat, unwittingly drawing Damocles’s atten
tion. The moment their eyes met, Clo sucked in a breath and meekly stared at the floor, trying to tamp down the memories of that face staring at her down the barrel of a Mors. She’d been barely more than a child, and he’d shot at her.
Gods, how she hated him.
Eris stepped in front of her, trailing her fingertips along the edge of the conference table, where a game of zatrikion sat half-completed. Sher was fond of the circular board game and had taught Clo how to play when she came to live at Nova. She was never able to capture his queen.
“Were you in the middle of a game?” Eris asked with a half-smile.
“Not a recent one. My father leaves me a move to puzzle over whenever he visits,” General Damocles said. “Do merchants play?”
Eris’s hand dropped. “It’s rare in the aedifex class, but yes. I sometimes have the opportunity in my line of work.”
He motioned to one of the chairs. “Then sit. Play a round with me.”
Eris settled across from Damocles and smoothed her skirts, then motioned to Ariadne, Clo, and Nyx to step back. Though she looked calm, Clo could sense her unease through the Pathos. At that moment, all their disguises seemed frail, as vulnerable as glass.
Clo wisely kept silent as Damocles saved the existing game in the board’s mainframe before rearranging the pieces to their starting positions. He invited Eris to make the first move.
She did. Peasant forward. A pedestrian move, indicative of someone who hadn’t played in a long time.
Damocles didn’t mention anything as he shifted his own red piece. “Tell me about your weapon.”
“I’ll be honest,” she said as they moved through the first battle. “This is a prototype. Your testing facility will no doubt perfect it before use.”
“We have plenty of weapons. Why should I bother giving this one my time and attention? Especially if the war might come to an end?”
Clo tried not to flinch. She could make an entire list of the reasons he should give this one his attention, and all of them were monstrous. If he created high-density blasts from the cargo, this weapon would be unstoppable.
she hissed through the Pathos.
“Wars will always need to be fought, General. Let’s start with the basics,” Eris said, “It can shoot faster than a Mors—”
Damocles sat back, bored. “It doesn’t matter how fast it shoots, if it doesn’t improve on the technology. I’m sure that line might have been enticing for my father during the Battle of the Garnet, but the Evoli already came up with the technology to block a Mors blast. If that’s all . . .”
Eris pursed her lips, as if she hated what she was about to say. “It targets specific genetic sequences.”
Now, that got his attention. “Go on.”
“All you need is to input a genetic code, and the weapon can target any individual or group of people you’d like. It would work on any alien species—even Evoli, assuming that truce doesn’t hold. Test it with a high-density blast and it’ll shoot right through Evoli armor. Perhaps through a ship, if you used projectiles that were hard enough. I assume this was the answer to Project Harpy you sought.” There it was; Eris had taken the risk and given him the bait. If the cargo was intended to be used as ammo, Damocles would want the weapon.
Clo’s lips thinned at the use of the word alien. She knew Eris was playing a role, but the Evoli Clo met had been as human she was.
Damocles’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes gleamed. It terrified the silt out of her. “And yet you’re showing it to me in the midst of a possible Evoli truce with the Oversouls.” He’d taken three of Eris’s pieces already.
“Are you telling me I’m out of a job?” Eris’s voice was light, charming. Only the Pathos betrayed her unease. “You still have the Novantae gaining in numbers. Pretty soon, they won’t just be a small pain in your ass but a military presence to contend with.”
“I can handle the rebels. I’m wondering about your motivation.”
“Money, General. As always.” Eris stared at the board, considering her next move. “But here’s what you ought to consider: a truce leaves open the possibility of a vulnerable military, and I don’t trust the Evoli. Do you?” She captured two of his pieces in a single move.
“My father is committed to making this truce work,” Damocles said.
“Long life to the Archon.” She inclined her head for the blessing. “But that’s not what I asked.”
Damocles paused and stared at Eris. “Crossing the Archon is treason.”
“Yes. Except that you”—she knocked over one of his pieces and nabbed it—“are going to be the Archon. If you agreed with this truce, you wouldn’t have asked to see me after I told you that I solved Project Harpy.”
The general rested his elbows on his knees. “Very good, Negotiare.”
“Zoe,” Eris corrected with a smile. “And I have to be, in my line of work. Money is an excellent motivator.”
He studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Have one of your assistants bring the weapon and follow me.” The general stood and called back over his shoulder, “Have another bring the board. I’m still contemplating my next move.”
Clo and Nyx followed closely behind Eris while Ariadne picked up the zatrikion board.
Beside Clo, Nyx let out a breath.
Clo saw Eris’s jaw clench, but she said nothing. Clo nudged Nyx with an elbow.
Nyx gave her a brief death glare, then forced her features to relax.
They made their way through more lavish corridors, then through the painstakingly manicured grounds. Some of the flora there was from the Old World, carefully managed in greenhouses, and found nowhere else in the universe. They were kept as reverently as artifacts, a historical record of how far humanity had come: from a backwater speck of a planet light-years away from this place.
The capital of a vast empire that spanned galaxies.
The firing range on the palace grounds was used only for royalty or the highest military personnel. No one else was practicing. One of Damocles’s guards took the case holding the weapon from Clo and opened the latches.
Prince Damocles took out the gun. Royal guards hovered nearby, hands on their own weapons. Another appeared at the end of the field, marching someone else out.
Eris, Nyx, Clo, and Ariadne all sucked in their breath.
An Evoli.
He was shirtless and in shackles. Like her fellow Novantae mechanic Elva, he looked almost Tholosian save for the specks of darker markings along his skin. Evoli were all natural-borns, like Clo and those in the slums. Clo knew from Elva that their markings were unique to the individual. This man had thicker splotches, but like Elva, they mainly bisected the body, curling around the face and down the limbs like freckled stripes.
Elva had told Clo a little about the Evoli Empire, whispered in the middle of the night they had spent
together. She had come to the resistance after she’d lost faith in her own Empire. Something to do with her sister, was all she would say. She, like the Novantae, hoped for a future peace between their people. Elva claimed Tholosians and Evoli shared common ancestors, not all that many generations ago.
The Evoli were descended from early Tholosian colonies, but branched off after settling on what became their home, Eve—a glittering jewel of a planet on the edge of the Karis Galaxy. It was hard to reach—the distance between the Iona and Karis galaxies was protected by thick asteroid belts the Evoli were adept at navigating in their nimble ships. Eve, like so many others, had once housed other lifeforms that were killed off during raids. But the atmosphere required adaptation to live in, synthetic alterations to their DNA that eventually passed through the generations to their children and gave them extra abilities.
To the Tholosians, it made them less than human. Other.
Alien.
Clo had learned the truth behind the rumors. She wasn’t afraid of Elva or the Evoli anymore, though she had been when she first left the Snarl. Rumors passed on both sides; Elva had told her the Evoli believed Tholosians to be emotionless. Monstrous.
Clo’s mouth had twisted. I mean, the Tholosians are pretty monstrous, she’d said, before pulling the blanket over their heads, distracting them both.
The Evoli Empire could be just as single-minded and destructive as the Tholosians. Their lead Oversoul, the Ascendant, stated that the universe demanded no Tholosians could be allowed to live. They were a menace that would spread unchecked.
The Novantae had reached out, offering to partner with the Evoli officially, but had been rebuffed. To them, even the Novantae could not be trusted. They feared the Oracle still lurked in the deepest parts of their minds.
Clo was only afraid of any Empire that wanted to kill civilians for no more reason than false beliefs. Tholosians like Clo or Evoli like Elva weren’t monsters or sorcerers; they were pawns.
This imprisoned Evoli was someone else caught up in this power play between two empires. Clo’s fingernails bit into her palms as she stared at him. From this distance, if Clo ignored the markings and soft glow of his skin, he looked no different from the rest of them. Terrified, alone. Sweat broke out along his forehead. He met Clo’s eyes, and she couldn’t help but look away.
