by Pierce Brown
“I’ll take you to the prisoner,” the warden says uneasily.
—
The dog follows us, keeping its wary distance but never letting the Obsidian out of its sight as the warden leads us to a newer part of the facility. From a guard station, he extends the ramp over the divide to a suspended cellblock. We cross, and as the great doors to the block open, music trickles out.
The interior of the cellblock is a globe with a central communal area and the cells in three levels accessed by walkways and a stairwell. Sevro pushes past the warden. “What the blazing shit…”
It’s not a prison. It’s an improvised paradise. Thick layers of expensive carpets cover the steel floors. The walls are painted eggshell white. Golden roses and ivy grow along the walkways and crawl along the guardrails, fed by UV lights that hang from the ceilings. The cell doors are open. Three cells are filled floor to ceiling with books and datacubes, another with bottles of wine, another with camisoles and robes, another with a refrigerator and a portable generator and a stove, another with a garden of tomatoes, garlic, and carrots, another with hulking iron dumbbells and tension bands.
The communal floor is one great lounge. Hookahs stand like emerald scarecrows amidst a sea of pillows and blankets. Two collared Pink prisoners, a slender woman and muscular man, sprawl there naked, bruises mottling their bodies. Empty bottles and other casualties of debauchery litter low tables. And amongst all this, a powerful man sits in a chair with his back to us, playing a violin with feverish hummingbird strokes, bathed in the light of a UV lamp, naked but for the dull metal prisoner collar. He skin is tawny, darker than that of his younger brother. His golden hair is long and coiled and splays down his broad back. Lost in reverie, he does not hear us enter.
“Apollonius au Valii-Rath,” I say.
The man stops playing and turns around. If he’s surprised to see us, he doesn’t show it. It’s as if we materialized out of the fever of his song. For me, there is pain in seeing him sitting there twisted around, the equine nose, the sensual lips, the dark eyelashes and hot-coal eyes. He is a twisted simulacrum of his younger brother, Tactus—a man I cared for despite his darkness because I saw in him a glimmer of something good. But this is not my friend, no matter what blood they share. If there ever was light in this man, it was long ago snuffed by the hungry shadow inside him.
“What’s this?” he says, eyes searching our masked faces. His amused baritone smooth and quick as thick wild honey down a hot knife. “A deputation of devils come to my acropolis with calamity on their heels? Have you come to kill me, fiends?” He twirls the violin to hold it by its neck like a weapon, his voice becoming pugilistic. “I venture you’ll not find it pleasant.”
“He’s bloody mad,” Sevro says over our coms. The man was always touched, a lover of violence and vice, but there is a mania behind his eyes more precarious than was there when I last saw him standing bruised and proud before a Republic court.
“Apollonius,” I say again. “We’ve come to take you home.”
The war criminal’s eyes narrow. “At the behest of whom?”
“Your brother.”
“Tharsus?” His eyes widen as he slides out of the chair like a grand saltwater crocodile and faces us without any shame for his nakedness. Long white scars from razors cover the lean muscles of his torso. The two nearest his heart are from me when we met in the hallway outside my bedroom in the Citadel. “Tharsus is alive?”
“He’s waiting for you on his flagship, my lord,” I lie. “We’ve come to ferry you to your fleet.”
Apollonius looks down at the ground and a shudder of boyish joy goes through him. He looks up with a predatory smile. “Magnificent. Soon we will join him. But first, debts.” He glides toward the warden. Thraxa takes a protective step up to my side. “Warden, warden, warden. Recall for me, for my memory has a tide unto itself, did I not promise you something upon the genesis of my incarceration here?”
“I’ve done what you asked,” the warden says to me. “Honor your end of the bargain.”
“I speak to you, warden, not my brother’s minions.”
“I do not recall what you said, prisoner. I receive many threats.”
“Lies! A punctilious race such as yourself does not forget. You squirrel facts away like nuts in winter. Never too many nuts for a meticulous little creature…”
“I’ve helped you, dominus.”
“Ah. Now you say dominus….”
“If it weren’t for me, you’d still be in the hole sucking algae from a pipe.”
“Sucking from a pipe.” He smiles. “A vibrant thought, that.” He strokes the man’s face. Sweat beads along the warden’s receding hairline. He’s terrified of Apollonius. “You should choose your words with more care, frail creature.” He takes the man’s sweat from his brow and tastes it. “As I suspected. You taste like coins.”
“He’s going to kill him,” Thraxa says over my com, her worry bleeding through.
“Serves the dog-kicker right,” Sevro mutters. The Obsidian leans against the doorframe, his head motionless but his eyes darting back and forth between us as if he knows we are speaking on private coms.
“Lord, we need him alive,” I say.
“Why?” Apollonius asks neutrally.
Because he will keep this quiet, you psychopathic shit. “He has a biometric monitor on his heart. He dies, the whole place locks down,” I lie. “We’re on a timetable before their drone systems reactivate. Yalla. We need to go.”
Apollonius steps close to me and stares into my mask. I wave Thraxa back.
“What is your name?” he asks.
“Artullius au Vinda.”
“I do not know an Artullius,” he says. “Take off your mask.”
“Can I shoot him?” Sevro asks.
“Then we’ll have to carry him with this Terran grav,” Alexandar says.
“I’ll carry the shitheap,” Thraxa replies.
“He’s not supposed to be this big,” Alexandar mutters. “Bastard was supposed to be eating algae for the last six years. He looks like he’s been eating whole cows. Musta put on fifty kilograms of muscle.”
“I’m going to shoot him, Reap,” Sevro says. “He’s on to us. And he’s a pervert.”
“Don’t shoot him,” I say.
I close the remaining distance so that Apollonius and I are eye to visor. He’s slightly shorter than I am. “Six years is a long time for new men to make their mark,” I growl out of my mask. “I’ve been paid for your breathing body. And I will deliver it to your brother. Hardly matters to me if you’re unconscious and drooling or traipsing about like a gorydamn Pixie. So, shut up. Get dressed. Or I break your nose and drag you in like the Martian dog you are.”
He stares at me for three pumps of the heart and then breaks the spell with a pleasant laugh. “Venusian?” he asks.
“Venusian,” I confirm.
“I hate Venusians. Are you Carthii?”
“Saud.”
Beside me, Thraxa’s hand has settled on her hammer.
“Then you live the day.” He smiles. “How I’ve missed my people, even you clam eaters. Gold has an unyielding manner, no?” He sniffs the air, throwing the Obsidian a disdainful look, and turns to rummage through the pillows till he pulls out a white kimono brocaded in purple and gold. This he ties around the waist with a silk sash and bends to kiss his sleeping Pinks farewell. They do not stir, likely under the effects of some narcotic. He brings his violin with him and returns to us barefoot.
“Shall we?”
We prepare to leave the warden behind in the cellblock, having no more use for him. Alexandar and Sevro open the cellblock door and go through. Thraxa and I follow with Apollonius. Then he lunges backward away from us.
By the time I turn around, he’s already standing with the warden, his huge hands wrapped around the smaller man’s head, tilting it back and forth, exploring its contours with his fingers. The warden is frozen in his grasp. Apollonius looks over at me with the bor
ed insolence of a dog taking a shit on a carpet. The warden screams as Apollonius presses his hands against his eyeballs. Apollonius’s muscles ripple. His veins engorge. Before I can rush to separate the two, there’s a meaty squelch. Blood sprays Apollonius’s face as the warden’s eyes puncture and explode in their sockets. Alexandar gags. Apollonius lets the warden fall to the ground and looks blithely up at me as the man screams and paws at his face. The Gold brings a bloodied thumb to his tongue.
“Just like coins.”
I stare at the squirming warden, appalled.
“Sevro, shoot him.”
A fusillade of darts hiss past my shoulder. Two hit Apollonius in the face. He laughs and pulls them free from under his cheek. Sevro and Alexandar shoot again and Apollonius swats the darts with his hand, where they stick in the meat. Silent, he charges Sevro like a joyous, blood-soaked bison. I lower my shoulder and tackle him from the side, hitting him just under the ribs and lifting him off the ground, arms gripped behind his knees. We crash to the carpets. He’s a better wrestler than I am and I’m caught off guard by his immense strength. He rolls around me like an anaconda till I’m on all fours and the back of my head is against his sternum as he stands, pushing from the ground with his legs, cranking on my neck, straining my spinal cord as his thumb knuckles try to dig up into my Adam’s apple. I choke, unable to breathe, but claw up at his face and stick my thumb into his nostril and try to bury it up his nasal cavity. His grip doesn’t slacken. I’m going to pass out. Then the Obsidian guard is there. He hits Apollonius in the side of the head with a hookah and I manage to wrench myself free. My scarabSkin mask comes off in the Gold’s vise hold and he crumples to the carpet as I stand, winded and red-faced over him.
Looking up at my naked face, Apollonius begins to laugh again, slow drunken sounds from his diaphragm as the venom finally overwhelms his body. He spreads his arms wide on the ground, covered in dark blood like some evil primordial squid. Sevro runs up and punts him in the temple, more for good measure, and the man’s eyes roll behind his heavy eyelids as he drifts into blackness.
I stand panting over Apollonius.
“Thank you,” I say to the Obsidian. His eyes search my face, knowing now who I am. He shrugs in amusement and looks back at the warden. For a moment I think he’s going to take his revenge and bash the Copper’s skull in. Instead, he tosses the bent hookah to the ground.
“Bloodyhell,” Sevro says. “The warden?”
Thraxa’s standing over the man. “Unconcious, lucky for him.”
“Corrupt, now blind.” I grunt. “Something tells me he’s got the money for a new pair.”
“Goldilocks, you prime?” Sevro asks. Alexandar hunches at the door. He wavers, then lurches to undo his mask, managing to get it off before he throws up inside it.
Sevro jumps away. “Idiot.”
“Sorry,” Alexandar says, face pale. He avoids looking at the mangled warden and puts his mask back on.
“The Minotaur, felled by a hookah.” Sevro kicks the hookah and pats the Obsidian on the shoulder. “Wicked swing. Looks like our deal with the warden’s off….”
“Why? Blind or not, he wakes up and reports this to the Republic, he spends the rest of his life in a cell. Something tells me he’s gonna bite the bullet.”
“Hell of a gamble,” Sevro says. “His men might go around him….”
“You think they’re not on the take? When in doubt, depend on self-interest. Take Thraxa and Alexandar and double back to the Omega Level to help Pebble and Clown transport the other prisoners. Thraxa and I will take this piece of shit to the sub. Go.”
He pauses, looking darkly down at Apollonius. “This is shit,” he mutters so only I can hear.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“I won 6–3. Time comes, I kill the prick.” He jerks his head at the Obsidian. “What do we do with…hey! What’s your name?” The Obsidian stares at him in annoyance and points to his mouth. “Nevermind. Tongueless it is.” Sevro looks back at me. “He’s seen your face.”
The Obsidian waits patiently as I look him up and down. “Want a ride?”
ON MY LEAVE DAY I wake up early and eat cold cereal in the commissary before anyone but the maids are awake. I dodge past their little packs of cleaning robots in the halls. With a week left in the bright month, the sky is bruise blue and leaks lazy rain. I make my way down the Esqualine Hills to the southern tram hub, which I take to the main station, on the eastern side of the grounds. Under the Silenius Arch, I show my leave pass and security ID to the Gray Lionguards there. I wanted to bring Liam, but it’s a school day, and I’m worried the sounds of the city will overwhelm him.
“First trip to Hyperion?” the sleepy Gray asks at the station checkpoint as he examines my pass. Lines of first-wave commuters from Hyperion pass through inspection on the other side of the station. He’s taking too long. He’ll find something wrong with the pass. I keep my hand on my billfold in my pocket. How much do I bribe him? I should have asked one of the maids, but you can’t count on a straight answer from any of them. They’d lead me astray for a laugh. More guards watch a holoprogram inside the guard station. “Seeing the sights?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Skip the Circada. Lines are dreadful.”
“I have a flexipass.” I hold up the shiny silver pass the steward handed out to all the Telemanus servants.
“Ripper,” he drolls sarcastically. “That’ll get you in but it won’t let you cut the queue. Tourist sites are flat out. Martians everywhere.” He eyes me like I would a mosquito in 121. “Any fourth-class IDs are subject to full-spectrum assessment upon return after 22:00.”
“I’m second class….”
“Only on Telemanus grounds,” he corrects, referencing my pass. “Extra-Citadel clearance is a different protocol. Savvy?” I nod. “Enjoy our moon, citizen.”
I board the rain-slick train and huddle near a window, bundling tight my overcoat against the chill. The train sets out from the Citadel with only six other passengers. It cuts across trees and the low-lying autumn fog that buffers the Citadel from the city, rising up and up toward the jungle of lights and metal that is Hyperion. I remember seeing the city from the sky for the first time. It was magical then, thinking there were so many people in the worlds. Now, thinking of the riots and protests, it puts dread in my belly.
I disembark at Hyperion Station and push my way through the mass of commuters that cluster on the platform to board the train for its return journey to the Citadel. There’s Greens and Silvers in the crowd, but most are Coppers. All buttoned up against the chill in expensive identical overcoats and scarves and dark broad-brimmed hats. I beg their pardon as I push through them, but they don’t hear. Glowing earbuds fill ears. Holocontacts flicker in eyes. I use my elbows. I’m so short I can’t see my way through and almost get trampled when a speaker pings. “Train doors closing. Mind the pinch. Train doors closing…”
Hyperion Station reminds me of Lagalos. It is a huge stone cavern of bustle and echoing noise, full of travelers from the farthest reaches of the Republic—scarf-wearing, leather-skinned Reds of Terran latifundias. Waifish Blue lads from some orbital flight school in snappy black jackets. Biomod manic Lunese Greens listening to thundering music from shoulder speakers, all stirred into a pot like one of Ava’s stews. I pass glittering shops with moving advertisements showing expensive-looking things on expensive-looking Pinks.
At a map vestibule, I accidentally touch the screen and the holo flips sideways, showing a pitviper’s scrum of travel options. It’s dizzying and I’m not sure how the bloodydamn ticket machines work. The Yellow behind me is tapping her foot impatiently.
I feel a sudden panic. I stick out like a blistered toe. I want to flee, go back to the Citadel, watch holoflicks in my bunk. Kavax took Sophocoles with him to Lake Silene for the day for some secret meeting, so I don’t have any duties.
No. Hyperion is the jewel of the empire. I look up at the carvings on the stone of the station
. Ava, you would have killed to see this.
I owe it to her to give it a chance.
Overwhelmed by the transit maps, I leave the station and head out on foot. I can trust my feet at least, and the GPS in my datapad. Only a five-kilometer walk to the gallery. Half the distance Liam and I would walk from camp to the strawberry fields.
Along the way, I stop outside a little café on a glittering boulevard. Groups of Brown janitors in gray jumpsuits pluck at trash with metal claws. Vox Populi protesters are beginning to gather in a square to hear a man speak. Off the side of the tree-lined walkway, past flowering shrubs littered with trash, is a huge drop to the city levels below. Over the edge, apartments stretch as far beneath as they do above. My gut churns, having just realized I am kilometers above the surface of the moon.
Fliers trundle along in aerial boulevards like migrating beetles. Beneath them is a layer of pollution and fog. Lights glow beyond that. A whole other city concealed in the murk. It’s manic, Da. Would make even you look away from the holos. Might even give you a smile.
I go into a nearby café, feeling a bit heady from the vertigo. Confused by the huge menu, I order a coffee and pastry. It’s the first money I’ve ever spent outside 121, and the coffee alone costs a quarter of what I make in a day.
The Brown cashier sighs when I pay with bills instead of dataCreds and makes a show of rummaging through the cash register for change. Once she hands it back, I move to sip my coffee in the corner. The coffee is good, sure, but the pastry overwhelms me. Buttery and flaky, with chocolate and nuts inside. Woulda sold two of your children for a bite of this, Ava. See, I can enjoy myself. I’m a regular citizen.
I watch out the window at the pedestrians but still feel so alone. They’re part of this world. That’s how they can afford these coffees every day. They have skills. Went to school. Know computers and advanced things. I’m not like them.
