TO SETTLE MY MIND, Hysan locks my black opal and our three Rings in his strongbox. We even drop in my Wave with the tutorial Ephemeris, to be extra safe.
It seems impossible, but Ophiuchus has discovered how to bend Psynergy to his will, so we’re shutting ourselves off from everything that could tether us to the Psy. I even make Hysan and Mathias promise to avoid sending or receiving holograms, at least for now. So we’re flying dark. And with no news from the outside world, worry is starting to infect my every thought.
Our zigzag flight during the attack took us far out from Gemini, but we’re speeding back, and the constellation already fills our view. Even now I can’t forget Mom’s drills on the Double.
House Gemini has two colonized planets. The largest one, Hydragyr, is an airless cratered rock, but its mountains hold a trove of rare metals. The smaller planet, Argyr, has been terraformed to support a vast forest. The chief point Mom drummed into me was that Gemini is a House divided. The rich live in splendor on Argyr, while the vast majority of Geminin work in beryllium mines deep under the surface of Hydragyr.
Mathias is in his cabin napping; he and Hysan are taking turns at the helm. “Do you need a break?” I ask Hysan.
“No, but your company would be nice.”
I sit beside him and stare at the screens. ’Nox’s Brain Powers has a litany of settings for the ship’s artificial brain. Shielding from Shadows lists the various veils available, including those of the Psy variety.
“He doesn’t believe you,” says Hysan, as though we’ve been carrying on a conversation this whole time.
“Mathias?” I ask. “No. Neither do the rest of my Advisors. Right now, my only supporters are my best friend, Nishiko, who’s a Sagittarian, and you, a Libran. The only people I can’t convince are my own.”
“The most crucial truths are always rejected before they’re accepted,” he says, gazing out at Space. “It’s one of our greatest human flaws: arrogance. We look up and dare to assume we know, when the universe is unknowable.” The words sound like they’re coming from a deeper place than usual. “In my experience, it’s better to keep an open mind and judge without prejudice . . . whenever I can.”
There’s an invitation in Hysan’s voice to get to know him better . . . and the more he shares, the more I want to learn about him. I know I should leave my wall up, at least until he’s revealed more about himself, but it’s hard keeping my distance when every time he gets close, I find myself wanting to get closer.
“How very Libran of you,” I say, pointing to the heading on one of the monitors. “I like your House’s Recovery-Requires-Review approach.”
“Always nice to meet a fan.”
Librans are known for their pursuit of justice, and they believe education is the best path to achieving it. To recover from any blow or overcome any challenge, they recommend reviewing all information available and studying all of one’s options, as an antidote to snap judgments and rash actions. “Do you know this one, too?” he asks.
A hologram beams out from the gold bloom on Hysan’s iris. The text he’s projecting is a children’s morality tale from Libra.
When the letters of the alphabet began disappearing, word spread there was a murderer among their ranks. They agreed every letter with a sharp edge on its body was a suspect. This ruled out O, who was asked to be the judge. He put each letter on trial and eventually blamed X, who had the most violent appearance and the worst disposition of them all. The real killer went free.
It was the eraser.
For the Librans, the villain in the story is O because he judged without knowing all the facts. From this tale, students are supposed to list all the things O did wrong as a judge. They can say he didn’t canvass broadly enough for suspects, or that he didn’t widen his worldview to account for all possibilities, or anything else that comes to mind.
The point isn’t the answer—it’s for Libran children to brainstorm as many potential factors in a given situation, in the hopes of broadening their outlook and instilling objectivity as an early value.
“O . . . for Ophiuchus,” says Hysan, shutting down the hologram. “I wonder why he’s been biding his time, and why he’s coming out of hiding now.”
I know I should be relieved Hysan trusts me—and I am—but there’s something strange about how easily he’s accepted my story when compared to everyone else’s reactions. “How did you get to be a diplomatic envoy at such a young age?” I ask.
“That’s funny.” But for the first time, he’s not smiling. “I didn’t peg you as someone who would ask that question.”
His eyes seem to darken during moments when he’s most present, but when his mind clouds over with other thoughts, like now, the green fades until his irises become as elusive as air. We’re quiet again, and I realize he’s touchier about his age than I am.