by Zen, Raeden
Oriana licked her bloody lips. “I saw plenty. I saw you, I saw who you truly are.”
“We all evolve into who we truly are,” Antosha said. “You made me what I am, much as your father did. That little move snapping Shrader’s neck through the field made a big impression. It took me years to replicate it.
“As for you, my dear, how does it feel to know your actions led to the deaths of twenty-five billion people, including your own mother?”
“I missed one along the way.” Oriana bit back tears. Here she’d thought that by seizing the data in Hengill Laboratory, she could deceive Antosha, convince Chancellor Masimovian of his treachery, and free her loved ones.
Did she instead ensure their deaths by not taking out Antosha when she had the chance?
“In time, all will be clear,” Antosha said, “but first you will accompany me to my inauguration.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I will raze Portage and its secessionist allies and send your father to the most painful and public death imaginable. You have my word.”
Artemis Square
When the last of the ministry chariots departed, a Janzer guided Oriana to the Chariot of the Chancellor. She pondered the purpose of her designation to the highest-rated chariot in the procession. Antosha hadn’t appointed her to any official position. Far as she knew, she’d return to her work as strategist, be placed in a new team—though the more she thought about the plan for her in his administration, the less sense this made. She sought to end his rule, to end his life, and Antosha knew her thoughts, yet he drew her closer.
Did he think she posed him no threat?
“This way, Madam Champion,” a Janzer said.
Madam Champion, she repeated to herself. She thought back to the day when she’d walked upon the marble stairs outside the Neophyte Dormitories, a freshly minted Champion of the Harpoons, bid for first among millions, eager to begin her life as an aera. It seemed so long ago.
A keeper bot lifted the back of her cashmere gown, infused with synisms that rendered chartreuse clouds and golden eagles. Golden beads, parts of clips unseen in Oriana’s hair, dangled over her chest, surrounding the carnation tattoo she’d wear until Pasha awakened. She wore her hair braided up, with two braids trailing from the crest at the top of her forehead, over to one side and down her back. A thin golden tiara circled her forehead, with a phoenix feather extending high from the back. Like the Maidens of Masimovian, she wore synisms injected around her eyes. When she batted her lashes, colors bloomed beneath her skin and streamed across her face.
Oriana’s Janzer escort opened the chariot. Tethys Charles, Supreme Prime Minister-designate of the Commonwealth, stood with Antosha, Lady Isabelle, a Courier of the Chancellor whose nametag read VALENTINE, General Arnao, and seven Maidens of Masimovian who attended in the former chancellor’s honor. (Oriana overheard Lady Isabelle mention she’d send the maidens to the surface during Jubilees after the commonwealth’s mourning ended.) Several carafes filled with Loverealan wine sat upon trays held by keeper bots. Three Janzers led the chariot, mounted on black horses with teal eyes and curled manes that draped down to white, furry hooves.
“Welcome,” Lady Isabelle said, not unkindly. She extended her hand, wrapped with white gloves and amethyst gemstones. Oriana took it and bowed.
“Madam Champion,” Valentine said. She bowed and extended her bare hand. She looked the way Oriana did mid-development, an adolescent girl who wore a maroon velvet gown with makeup on her face that made her look mature. Oriana accepted her hand and nodded.
Arnao bowed deeply and welcomed her. He wore a dark suit with golden buttons down the left side, a Beimeni beret with a phoenix feather atop his head. She didn’t know this general, but he seemed loyal to Lady Isabelle and Antosha. Still, she remembered her courtesies and bowed slightly to him.
“Welcome.” Antosha kissed Oriana’s hand tenderly. She mustered all her willpower not to snatch her fingers away from his and slap him for all the commonwealth to see.
For my loved ones, Oriana thought, I will endure this day.
She hoped her recaller protected her thoughts, but part of her no longer cared what Antosha did or did not know. She stared at him, still unbelieving. So many chains decorated his neck that she could barely see the Pendant of the Chancellor. It had never entered her mind that Chancellor Masimovian might die, yet here Antosha stood in the chancellor’s hoodless cape of gold-and-white silk. How he’d arranged this coup, Oriana didn’t know, but she had no doubt he was behind it.
Antosha turned and ambled up the wooden steps to the chariot’s crest, with Lady Isabelle at his side. They waved to the crowd while the maidens orbited Oriana and cooed and touched and sniffed. Oriana could feel the heat from their nude bodies, over which colorful synthetic tattoos flowed in psychedelic patterns.
Oriana felt nauseated. These women would be dead in short order. The chancellor used them for their bodies, just as Antosha used her skills. How long would Chancellor Zereoue have use for her?
“That’s enough,” Tethys said, “let her be.”
He forced his way to Oriana. The maidens pushed his cape—not nearly as extravagant as the chancellor’s—aside. Tethys kissed Oriana’s cheek, and she heard his voice in her mind without Marstone’s interference: As long as I live, I won’t allow them to harm you.
Oriana didn’t react to the comment, even as his words eased her speeding heart. The prime minister was elected by the ministry, and next in line to the chancellorship; if he spoke true, he could be an important ally for her. She took Tethys’s hand in hers, bowed, and said, “Prime Minister, the pleasure is mine, thank you.” She sat beside him.
Granville panels positioned on the First and Second Ward buildings now displayed Beimeni City’s sights. To the east, the Cherry Hills covered with white rose petals, to the north, the man-made Phanes Lake a perfect shade of aquamarine, to the west a sunset with a cornucopia of reds, violets, oranges, and blues above the Dunes of Phanes. In the square, the aristocracy and tourists filled the stands in the amphitheaters at the square’s corners, which faced the center. A seemingly infinite number of Janzers lined the square, the alleyways, and the rooftops in the First and Second Wards.
Near the chariot’s massive wheels, Janzers scurried and sent hand signals to others across the square. The wheels creaked, and Oriana heard the crunch of alloy rolling over stone. They passed ice sculptures of Nexirennan pyramids, Palaestran gorges, Gallian hills, Portagen transports, and Piscatorian submarines, among others. They passed a white marble statue of Chancellor Masimovian in maroon Beimeni robes, his hand over his chest, eyes stargazing. Golden phosphorescence enveloped the statue, and red rose petals surrounded it, laid in the pattern of hearts. The Janzers ushered Beimenians around the memorial. They sobbed and dropped wreaths and white roses and trinkets and spoke softly in prayer.
They rounded a fountain and palm trees specially organized in the square’s center. The fountain spewed cherry-colored water, and gold flakes dusted the palms. Closer to North Archway, Granville panels covered an enormous vase, fifty meters high, displaying events of the commonwealth’s past to warm the heart and please the eyes. Oriana watched the first expansion to the West, the creation of new territories in Central and the East, the first man and woman to reach two hundred and two hundred fifty years old, as youthful as neophytes. Colorful flowers of every type brimmed out of the top of the vase, and down below, a golden stage rimmed with red rubies held the twenty ministers from the twenty loyal territories stretched out to either side.
Chief Justice Carmen awaited their arrival upon a stage, standing next to the Pedestal of the Chancellor, where the chancellor-designate and prime minister-designate Tethys Charles would take their oaths of office. The judge waved his enormous hand to the crowd. The strike teams, located around the stage’s base, now sprinted toward the center and formed an alleyway between the chariot and the stage, as was tradition, though no one had seen it done in two hundred years.
The crowd cheered. Oriana couldn’t hear the maidens’ instructions. When the horses halted, the noise soared, the crowd eager to watch their new leader embark on the legendary Walk of the Chancellor. The strikers, aeras, captains, and strategists unsheathed their diamond swords.
When Oriana passed Ruiner and Mintel and Dahlia, she simpered. They acknowledged her, though Oriana felt their discomfort, as if they too misunderstood why she accompanied the chancellor’s party.
Valentine broke away to join the hundreds of couriers arranged in rows beside the stage. The maidens rushed ahead of the party and formed an arch atop the stage, posed like goddesses. Lady Isabelle, Oriana, and Tethys formed a triangle between Antosha and Carmen—
Light flashed over Artemis Square, and for a heartbeat Oriana couldn’t see anything.
She focused on the movement. Near Phanes Lake’s shore, far in the distance, white lights mixed with the sunset. The light encroached upon North Boardwalk, and Oriana distinguished the outlines of what looked like ghosts, glowing with white phosphorescent light, which made it impossible for her to determine how many neared. Was this part of the celebration?
The ghosts slowed, and those in the rear caught up.
Oriana extended her consciousness and zoomed in the way she had done during development.
My gods, there must be thousands of them, Oriana thought. Two silhouettes broke free from the rest, and when the phosphorescence dimmed, a man stood at the square’s boundary with the boardwalk, a woman not far behind.
She felt warm tears in her eyes. No. This isn’t real. This is another of Antosha’s deceits. A cruel deceit in which he’s forced my eyes to see my father.
ZPF Impulse Wave: Broden Barão
Beimeni City
Phanes, Underground Central
2,500 meters deep
At the edge of North Boardwalk, Brody held up his fist, and his army halted. He sniffed, sensing the telepathic field that shielded Artemis Square. He blocked his mind from Marstone and connected to the ZPF. Indeed, Antosha had created a protective field around the square.
He sent a telepathic wave over the ZPF. It washed over Antosha’s grid like sunlight over a glacier—glinting, reflective, and futile. He was unable to sever Antosha’s hold.
Brody told his army, I have to go myself.
He stepped onto the square.
He felt a flutter in his head and spine. Antosha’s projection into the ZPF flowed through Brody’s body. The phosphorescence on the sides of his body armor dulled and revealed his face.
A collective gasp rippled through the city.
“The People’s Captain has returned,” screamed an aristocrat.
“He’s a murderer, a traitor to our values,” another said.
“Is this part of Chancellor Zereoue’s presentation?” said Minister Baltica of Phanes.
Minister Carpathia of Dunamis raised her arms in disbelief. “Did Chancellor Zereoue rescind the captain’s sentence to the Lower Level?”
“Oh, at last, my captain has returned to me,” Minister Furongielle of Marshlands said.
“Zereoue the Great has proven to be Zereoue the Merciful,” said Minister Gorstian of Volano.
Antosha rotated slowly. He grinned. He said something Brody couldn’t hear in the ZPF or discern from his lips. Antosha was blocking him. Lady Isabelle raised and lowered her head in agreement.
Father, is it really you? Brody heard Oriana’s voice. When he connected to his daughter, he felt a swell of pride and sorrow—his little girl, Madam Champion, upon the inaugural stage next to the Pedestal of the Chancellor. Her beauty surpassed her mother’s, and again, even here, Brody was back at the viewing, behind glass, his twins on the other side.
Where’s Pasha? Brody sent.
“Not a word,” he heard Isabelle say to Oriana, her hand upon her sword’s hilt, not so hidden within her gown.
Antosha moved down the steps and raised his hands. A wave through the ZPF stung Brody. He grimaced and lost his connection with his daughter.
The crowd and Masimovian Tower and Oriana disappeared …
… replaced by Candor Chasma.
Brody recognized Mars’s rusty clay, its churned ridges, its cliffs perfectly carved, as if rivers flowed beneath the stone beside the Beimenian terradome, which turned part of the surface into a replica of the Earth, with grass and carbyne buildings. The ansible stood in the courtyard between the research centers. The moons, Phobos and Deimos, hung above the big-bellied mountains in the twilit sky, framed by cirrus clouds.
Antosha, covered in his silver synsuit, dashed over clay so dark it seemed as if he moved through dirty puddles of water. When he neared Brody, he stopped. Brody moved left, foot over foot, and Antosha moved right, foot over foot. Their eyes fixed upon each other.
“It’s time to bring this to an end,” Antosha said.
“Let my son and daughter go,” Brody said. “Let everyone in Reassortment Hall go. This is between us, not them—”
Antosha sprinted forward and raised his hand. Brody gasped. He felt Antosha penetrate his mind.
You killed Haleya, he heard. You assassinated Chancellor Masimovian; you’re responsible for the madness of Homo transition; you’re responsible for the economic meltdown, and the attacks, and the explosions in the supply and electric lines, and the disappearance of hope.
Brody felt light-headed. He couldn’t escape the Mars illusion or Antosha’s telekinetic choke hold. He envisioned Pasha and Oriana, and their essences in the ZPF gave him strength. He sent a wave along Candor Chasma, and Antosha stumbled backward. Brody hit him again, this time with the force of Mars’s gravity. Antosha flew far into the cliffs. Dust plumed.
Brody gagged and grabbed his throat.
Antosha emerged from the arid clouds. He soared into the air, and a diamond sword formed in his grasp. He swung it toward Brody. Brody rolled right, and the sword sparked along the dead ground. Antosha raised the sword perpendicular over his head. Chainless, weightless spiked orbs materialized, rotating around him like moons. Antosha shot them, rhythmically and rapidly, in oblong paths, guiding them with his sword.
Brody somersaulted back and forth and spun to avoid the orbs. He slammed his fist into the ground. The tremor split Candor Chasma in half. Antosha lost his balance and his orbs. Brody distanced himself, then bowed and focused. He felt Antosha’s field inside the ZPF, manipulated it, and broke free.
He looked around, confused. The illusion of Mars remained intact around him.
Antosha teleported and reappeared behind Brody in midair. His foot barreled for Brody’s head, and upon impact, Brody slammed to the Martian surface with a thud. He rolled, and Antosha pounced and smashed Brody into the ground, screaming and howling. Brody crashed into the hard, cool surface. Antosha’s arms locked along his chest.
“Pain,” Antosha said, spit flying from his mouth. He pushed Brody’s forearms beneath his chin, and Brody felt the needles of Reassortment in his brain and spine, pulsating out through his body. “Do you enjoy pain? Do you enjoy power? Do you enjoy dying?”
Antosha released him.
Brody folded on his stomach and held his throat. It was as if his own molecules were collapsing around and into him. He wanted to cough but couldn’t. He tried to break free from Antosha’s hold but couldn’t. He wanted to cry out but couldn’t. All he heard was, You’re a failure, you’re a failure, you’re a failure.
Antosha gripped a telekinetic hammer, phosphorescent and covered with spikes, with both hands.
Brody trembled. His eyes rolled to the back of his head.
“For Haleya,” Antosha said softly. “Now you die.”
ZPF Impulse Wave: Verena Iglehart
Interterritory Transport Tunnel
Nexirenna, Underground Central
2,500 meters deep
“Stop the transport,” Breccan said.
His voice shook Verena, who folded her arms. There was nothing for her to say.
Jocelyn had snuck aboard their transport.
Jocelyn froze, her lilac eyes appearing less innocent presently. She’d emerged from beneath a floorboard when the transport crossed into Nexirenna. She wore a cape sprayed with chameleon synisms that matched the taupe Granville panels.
“Halt the transport,” Xylia said.
Verena knew neither Xylia’s stern tone nor Breccan’s owl eyes frightened Jocelyn, but she was concerned all the same. They didn’t create Janzer synsuits for Jocelyn’s dimensions.
“We’ll never get through the gates with a child,” Breccan said.
“I’m not a child!”
Verena activated the holographic control panel.
“No!” Jocelyn said. She tugged Verena. “We’ll make it work! I can help! I can sneak past the Janzer guards and activate the gates that extend the transport tubes to Reassortment Hall! By the time they realize what I’ve done, you’ll be gone! And we can still free our comrades.”
“How does she know so much about the operation?” Breccan said. “How can we be sure Captain Barão concealed our plans from Antosha when he couldn’t even conceal them from a …” Jocelyn pushed her lips together and pouted. “… a Polemon spy,” Breccan said.
Jocelyn grinned.
The transport turned sharply to the left. They lost their balance and fell into the seats.
“Hold on,” Verena said. She telepathically requested the transport to reduce its speed. “Jocelyn did the same in the Hollow with Jeremiah.”
