Iron Gold

by Pierce Brown

  The girl spits at me. “Syndicate scum.”

  “That’s no way to welcome your savior. Your mommy sent me to get you out.”

  “My mother…” the boy says.

  “Did I stutter?” I realize then that I’m slurring my words. I spit out the rag. Bits of skin from the wound cling to it.

  “If Mother sent you, where are the Lionguards?” the boy asks. “The Telemanuses?”

  “In the Citadel, shining their armor and jackin’ it. How should I know?”

  “Are you a lurcher?”

  “Hell no.” I bend to unclip the lock and then twist it so that the teeth of the lock disengage. I’m about to open it when I catch the girl’s eyes again. “I’m on your side, girly. If you little brats want to see your parents again, you do just as I say. Otherwise we’ll all get peeled apart like onions for a stew.” I watch them expectantly. “This is the part where you nod.” They both nod. First the boy, then the girl. “Good.”

  I open the latch and step back, keeping my gun trained on the Duke. The girl bursts out but the boy follows more tentatively, eyeing the Duke and me curiously. He’s more tender and scientific than the girl, it seems. More willing to cooperate. I’ll talk to him. Then I feel something cold and metal against the back of my spine. I turn slightly and see the girl holding a solid razor to my back, which she must have fetched from the stack. I laugh at the size of it in her hands, but there’s no humor in the pale girl’s eyes. I’d call her bluff if I didn’t know who her psychotic parents were. The kid is feral.

  “Very smart, little lady. Kill your ticket out of here.” I step away from the razor. She shuffles forward, the blade never leaving my spine. I look to the boy. “Will you tell her to stop slagging about? We’re wasting time.”

  “Electra, he’s right.”

  The girl twitches her blade to the side and cuts me shallowly on the arm.

  “Dammit. I’m bleeding enough,” I say.

  “That’s a down payment,” she replies. She reaches into the box of razors, trying them till she finds another blade. She tosses it to the boy. He catches it nimbly and spins it in his small hands.

  Little warlords, I remind myself.

  “What’s our point of egress?” the boy asks me like he’s a real soldier.

  “There’s a ship on a private dock two floors up,” I say, holding up the key. “There’s also a main garage, but it’ll be swarming with thorns.”

  “Place will already be swarming,” the Duke says bitterly. “You’re dead flesh walking.”

  “He’s right,” the girl mutters. “You made hell coming in here.”

  “Sound might not have traveled,” I say hopefully.

  “We heard it through the vault, Gray.”

  “What’s your name?” the boy asks me.

  “My name?” I laugh. “Ephraim.”

  He extends a small hand. The little halfbreed is mocking me, but his eyes are sincere. I laugh again and take the small hand. There are no sigils on it, but I’m surprised by the calluses I find there. “Pax,” he says. “Are the Telemanuses alive? The rest of the staff?”

  “Don’t know.” I grab the Duke and haul him to his feet. “Up. Highness, you’re our human shield.” I straighten his jacket and leave him between the little monsters with their razors at the mouth of the vault. The Duke cowers. He’s already attacked me twice. I was surprised. I thought he’d wilt like a flower soon as I threatened him. “Watch him for a moment. Stick him if he gets out of line.”

  “Immobilizing strike or just a flesh wound?” the girl asks.

  “Goryhell. Just watch him. Little psycho.”

  The boy grows quiet and serious as he sees the bodies outside the vault. Unfazed, the girl turns back impatiently as I cram the bag I brought full of gems and bearer bonds. It breaks my heart to see how little I can fit in the bag and how much loot I’ll leave behind. I could spend days in here. Place would have melted Cyra’s circuits. “What are you doing?” the girl says, scowling.

  “Sorry, I have a problem.” I zip shut the bag and throw it up on my shoulder. I contemplate taking a razor for a souvenir, but the things are damn terrifying, so I settle for an old iron ring with a three-headed dragon snarling out from its surface. I’m about to leave when I catch sight of a familiar splash of blue and yellow paint on a canvas out of the corner of my eye.

  It can’t be.

  “Gray, we have to go!”

  I ignore her and rifle through the stacked canvases, tossing several million credits’ worth of paintings on the ground, and pull out a small-framed oil-on-canvas painting. I laugh incredulously at the picture of Dalí’s dread monster: in bright, cracked colors soft watches drape over a tree branch and against the corner of a brown shelf. It is La persistencia de la memoria. I’m suddenly conscious of the blood on my fingers. “Gray!” the girl shouts. Wiping my hands, I carefully cut open the back of the frame and slide the canvas out, rolling it gently and slipping it into the bag. Feeling a bit lighter, I join the children.

  “I once investigated this claim. They said it was lost in a fire!” I say with a laugh. “I knew they were lying.”

  “Stealing even now,” the girl sneers. “You’re disgusting.”

  “Quiet, hatchetface.” I grab the Duke by the back of his collar and push him through the entry room toward the double doors. “Everyone stick close to me. If anyone comes close, you stab them right in the jewels. Understand?” They both nod. The boy is a model of concentration. He paled when he saw the bodies I left on the floor, but now he’s lowered his head in anger. Same dead-set jaw as his father, but his hands shake as they hold the too-large razor. Pretend to be spawn of the Reaper all he likes, he’s just a terrified boy.

  “You ready, little monsters?” They nod. I look at the closed door leading out of the antechamber back into the hall and feel the dread of what lies beyond it seep into me. “Let’s go.”

  We open the door. Half a dozen guns roar. The door shakes and wood shatters as bullets and energy chew into it. I slam closed the door and duck with the children, hauling the Duke down into my lap. “You blind idiots!” I shout out over the Duke’s head. “I have your duke!” No one responds from the other side. “You, peek out there,” I tell the girl.

  Her eyes widen. “What?”

  “You’re the most expendable, look out there and tell me what you see.”

  “Slag you.”

  “Fine.” I grab the Duke and shove him out, then jerk him back. “What did you see?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Will no one cooperate?!”

  “I’ll do it,” Pax says. Before he can move, the girl shoves him back and darts her head to look through the holes in the door, then dips back to shelter.

  “Four Obsidian braves, six Grays, three Browns. Six EFC-37 rifles, two GR-19 pistols, two Eaglefor PR-117s, a Vulcan 8k pulseFist. Couldn’t make out the rest.”

  I stare at her. “So, no dolls for you, huh?”

  “Was this your plan?” she asks. “How is this your plan?”

  “Yap yap yap. You’re the one who got kidnapped, dumbass.” I rise to a crouch and push my gun against the Duke. “Tell them not to shoot.”

  “Don’t shoot.”

  “Louder, obviously.” He glares at me like he has a choice. I grab his balls through his robe and twist.

  “Don’t shoot. This is your duke! Don’t shoot.” I dare a quick peek out through the door. A row of thorns clog the hallway. They look at each other in confusion.

  “Tell them to put their weapons on the ground.”

  “Put your weapons on the ground.”

  I look out again. “Well, look at that.” They’re obeying. “We’re coming out,” I say. I push the Duke up and rise myself, using him as a shield, keeping an arm around his throat and the gun to his head. We shuffle out the door. I have to kick it open. Their fusillade knocked it half off its hinges. The children follow.

  “Well, this is a bit awkward,” I say, facing the line of cutthroats. Some are
in their dusters, others look just roused from bed by the commotion. Their guns litter the floor. “I need you to back away. Down the hall. Then put your sacks and clams to the floor. If anyone rises or looks at me in a way that displeases me, I’ll relieve the Duke of his head. Crystal?”

  The men look to the Duke.

  “Do it,” he hisses. “Obey him.”

  The thorns back away from their weapons and lie on the floor. There’s four Obsidians amongst them. Those I watch most carefully. Gorgo isn’t there. Not good. We move quickly through the ceded floor. Pax grabs a small plasma pistol from the ground. The girl turns up her nose at this in favor of her razor. They follow tight behind me as I lead them to the lift bank. Electra hits the button with her razor’s hilt. Pax’s pistol suddenly goes off. The sound explodes in my ear. Plaster rains from the ceiling.

  “Halfbreed! What the hell was that for?” I snarl.

  “One of them was reaching for something.”

  “Well, then shoot him, not the ceiling!”

  The lift dings behind me. We back into it. The Duke laughs a little mad laugh to himself but says nothing of substance. The children are terrified, even the nasty girl. “Professional recommendation,” I say, looking back at the boy, “use that pistol on her, then yourself, if it looks like we’re slagged.” He looks down at the pistol. The girl glares at me. “Just trying to help.”

  There’s no one waiting for us on the Duke’s level. Word must have traveled. But still I expected Gorgo. We move quickly through the abandoned halls and make it back to the Duke’s suite. Our dinner still sits on the table. Electra grabs a handful of octopus tentacle and jams it into her mouth as we pass. We access the patio outside, crossing a small gravel park with swirling white angel trees to reach the Duke’s sparkling CR-17 Hornet. There’s no sign of any thorns. Something is off. I keep the Duke between me and the building, then I have an epiphany.

  “They’re in the ship,” I say. “Don’t…”

  Pax activates the door controls and the door hisses upward, revealing a dark interior. No one comes from inside. I look back to the building, not seeing any pursuers. Then I catch the glint of metal. Three stories up, through a plate-glass window, I see Gorgo’s pale face to the side of a long barrel. There’s a small flash. The window shatters. In this moment I suddenly realize why Gorgo smiled when I called him “the Duke’s man.” Something that feels like a hot hammer hits me in the right side of my chest. Everything goes very quiet and focused. Confused, I rock back on my heels, barely moved, and sway with the Duke. Like we’re slow dancing. I take a step backward, trying to pull the Duke into the ship. My heel catches and I fall backward with the Duke on top of me. I stare at the back of his head and part of the sky and breathe his hair. I try to push him off and get up, but he doesn’t move. I try to crawl out from under him. The Duke is making a rattling sound with his mouth. I crawl free of him and twist myself to my belly to try to stand. I can’t get up. My right arm is too weak to push.

  “Help…” I say distantly, quietly, confused at why I can’t rise. “Help…” I’m not even sure who I’m talking to. I feel hands under my arms. The boy’s hauling at me to get me up. I almost tip over again.

  “Leave him!” the girl cries.

  “Come on!” the boy shouts in my ear. I push with my legs and use him to stumble toward the door, leaving the Duke behind to bleed out on the edge of the ramp. I feel better with each step. The girl stands there with her legs spread, both hands on the boy’s stolen pistol, firing wildly up at the window. The panes around Gorgo vaporize. Another shot from Gorgo slithers under my left ear, taking the bottom of the lobe. It slams into the metal of the ship and ricochets till it embeds itself in the floor. I duck away from the door, now inside the ship’s main hall. Must fly away. “We have to take off,” I say. With the boy following, I stumble to the cockpit and then sit down in the captain’s chair. I stare at the controls, acclimating. I push the key in and twist. Lights come on the console.

  “Greetings, Your Ethereal Majesty,” the vessel purrs. I press the engine ignition. The Hornet’s twin ion engines thrum to life.

  “Close the door!” the girl is shouting. “Close the gorydamn door!” I look for the ramp retraction button and can’t find it, still dazed. The boy reaches past me from the co-pilot seat and presses it. I feel the ramp retract into the ship. He asks me something. I turn to look at him.

  “Hm?”

  “Can you fly?” he asks me.

  “Of course I can fly.” I reach for the elevation thruster controls and activate them. The Hornet levitates up off the landing pad. I push forward on the main engine throttle and we rocket away from the landing pad out into Endymion’s cityscape.

  “Goryhell,” the girl says. The tower shrinks behind us. “That was manic.”

  “You prime, Electra?” Pax asks. She nods.

  “Is the Duke dead?” I ask.

  “Hell if I know,” the girl replies.

  “Where are you taking us?” the boy asks.

  “Back to the Hyperion. It’ll take us an hour’s flight time in this. I can get your mommy’s men to rendezvous halfway. Syndicate will have this thing tracked, but short of military ships, nothing can catch a Hornet. Long as we don’t set down, we’re safe and you’re home to Mommy.”

  “We should hail the local Watchmen,” the boy says.

  “And roll the dice that they’re not on the Syndicate payroll? I thought your parents were geniuses.”

  “They are.”

  I grunt. “Must not be genetic.” They’re both staring at me funny. “What?” I ask. “Got something on my face?”

  “Are you prime?” the boy asks me.

  “I’m shiny.”

  “Shiny?” he asks.

  “Dog tongue,” the girl says. “You don’t look shiny. You look like you’re going to die.”

  “A regular font of cheer, you are.” A localized burning pain on my right pectoral begins to grow and grow until it’s a horrendous agony. My entire chest is starting to cramp. Something wet and hot trickles down my flank and soaks into my underwear. I look down and see a small hole in my suit. I stick a finger in and feel a sharp pain on the torn skin. It comes away covered with blood. Cool shock ignites in my cells from my nipples down through my legs and toes, like I’ve been dunked in ice water. “Oh. I’ve been shot,” I say. It must have gone through the Duke into me. It seems obvious now, but in the moment I couldn’t figure what happened.

  “Have you been shot before?” Pax asks warily.

  “Not exactly. Congratulations, you just saw me get my cherry popped,” I say through chattering teeth. It hurts worse by the minute. I look down at the wound. I thought I’d go into shock sooner. Fighting alongside the Sons, I saw Golds bleed out from scrap metal to the thigh. Others I’ve seen take bullets or pulseblasts to the face and keep ticking with half their jaws hanging off. A Red once kept fighting for an hour with his arm a shredded stump from a grenade. Died after, but still. Everyone is different. I’m a little proud of myself.

  But the pride is quickly eaten up by fear.

  The wound is bad and there’s no exit hole on my back. My fingertips are going cold. My teeth rattle together and the pain becomes unimaginable. I look over at the children, who talk amongst themselves, as we fly over the manufacturing districts of Endymion—areas hard hit by the Battle of Luna and not as well loved by Quicksilver—and wonder if they know how bad the wound is. I shift over to the ship’s holopad, which rests to the right of the flight control console, and tap in Holiday’s number from memory. She answers the call almost immediately. I face her, the Sovereign, and several others.

  “Ephraim…” she says in relief. “Did you…”

  “Right here,” I say. I expand the camera view to include the entire cockpit so they can see the children too.

  “Pax!” the Sovereign says, her voice almost breaking. Tears fill the Gold’s obnoxiously symmetrical eyes.

  “I’m here, Mother.”

  “Did they h
urt you?”

  “No,” he lies. “I’m safe.” The Sovereign looks to someone off-camera. “Call Victra, tell her Electra is alive.”

  “She’ll hit the Syndicate if she knows.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  The Sovereign looks back to the camera. “Where are you, Ephraim? Send us your coordinates and my men will rendezvous.”

  “No,” I say. “I’m not going to risk you shutting me in prison. Release Volga, and soon as she’s safe and tidy I’ll dump the kids on a rooftop, then your men can find them.”

  “That wasn’t what we agreed upon.”

  “Tough bloody luck.”

  “You’re bleeding everywhere…” Electra says. She looks past me. “He’s going to crash the ship anyway.”

  “I’ll trust a backalley Yellow’s clinic before I’ll trust a Gold’s word,” I sneer.

  “We’re going to the Citadel,” Pax says from behind me.

  “Maybe you didn’t hear…” I turn and find the tip of a razor centimeters from my right eyeball. He stands in a fencer’s position.

  “Comply, citizen. Or I’ll be forced to learn how to fly a ship.”

  FROM A BALCONY, I watch a squadron of ripWings rise from the Palatine landing pads up into the night. Their engines plume blue and shrink in the distance, leaving the Citadel wall behind and crossing the trees toward Hyperion.

  The children are safe. And so is Ephraim. My own relief in knowing the bastard lives comes as a surprise to me. I’ve never been the forgiving type, but I feel pity for the man and his pain. I recognized the fear in him when he saw the Obsidian the Sovereign’s men captured. He’s a man. Like my father, like my brothers, raised in a place without love, trampled by the same clumsy Republic that brought us from the mines. I can’t hate him any more than I can hate myself. Maybe that isn’t forgiveness, but it’s all I have to give.

  Just because he has pain doesn’t mean he should bring others into it.

  That’s on him.

  Holiday stands motionless beside me, watching the ships, a wistful expression caged by the hard lines of her face. The Sovereign held her back from the mission. Says it was because she hasn’t slept in forty-eight hours, but even I know it’s because of Holiday’s connection to Ephraim. There’s no forgiveness in the hard woman. I wonder if she was always this intense.