Hysan nods, and we sprint toward the column, splashing through muck. My yellow trousers get speckled and stained. The column has a ladder bolted to its northern face, and the rungs are slimy with blue-green algae. Hysan goes first, then me, followed by Mathias. My boot soles are still warped from the heat on Tethys, and they slip and slide as I climb.
When we near the top, I feel a stitch in my side. Above me, Hysan’s Scan shoots out a golden beam, and the locked access panel instantly pops open.
We climb up into the webbed steel truss that supports the train track. The build-up of static electricity here practically makes my curls stand on end.
“The closest station’s that way.” Hysan points. “It’s an ordinary pulse-train. It runs on a current of oscillating magnetism. We’ll have to crawl through this truss to reach it.”
Mathias gives me water from his canteen, and I tug down my air mask to drink. “How far?” I ask.
Hysan wipes sweat from his eyes. “A kilometer or two.”
There’s not enough room to stand inside the truss, so we crawl along the riveted beams on all fours. Every few minutes, a train blasts over us with a deafening rumble. By the time we reach the station, our water canteens are almost empty, my eardrums feel lacerated from the train noise, and my hands are bruised from the rivets. We’re all covered in slime.
Hysan unsheathes his dagger and uses its blade as a mirror to peek over the edge of the dimly lit station platform. When he gives the all clear, we scramble up, onto the platform, where it’s a relief to stand upright.
Hysan surveys his grimy suit. “They’ll never let us on the train looking like this.”
Mathias scrapes his boot soles clean with his knife, but we’re all so mud-splattered, the effort’s futile. Hysan draws something from his pocket: our veil collars.
“It’s your decision, Rho. Do you want to reach the Plenum or not?”
Mathias and I share a questioning glance, and without a word, we each take ours. No one seems to notice when we waver out of sight.
We slip into the first train that stops, then huddle in the aisle, trying not to bump anyone. The train has an air supply, so we stow our masks, which are now gray and damp. I can only hope the veils cover up our odor, too.
Some of the Ariean passengers around us are hooded and concealing what are obviously weapons. They look like muggers, though they’re too clean to be from the slum. Their complexions range from tones of dark pink to wine, and they’re all built like soldiers. Arieans are the most physically fit people in our galaxy.
No one on the train talks aloud or makes eye contact. Most people are listing to the right, enthralled by their Earpiece—a small device Arieans get pierced into their right ear when they turn seventeen, an age when every Ariean commits to two years in the army.
The Earpiece functions like a Wave, only its images aren’t projected as holograms: They’re screened inside the person’s mind, where no one else can see them. Arieans are masters in the art of war, and troops need to communicate with each other discreetly in the field.
Mathias hands me a tiny squeeze-tube, then passes another one to Hysan. “Antiviral,” he says. Holding his own gingerly by one corner, he bites off the tip between his teeth, then sucks the contents into his mouth. Hysan and I do the same. The syrup tastes like sea cherries.
It’s late at night when we reach the city center, but I don’t feel sleepy. My internal clock must be out of order. The enormous central train station is crowded with passengers and soldiers, all heavily armed. So far, I haven’t seen any wallscreens where we might get news from home.
As we wind through the labyrinthine station, Hysan says, “We’ll find sanctuary at the International Village. Every House has an embassy there.”
“Let’s go to Cancer’s,” I say, the thought of seeing my people giving me new strength.
Marson’s city center is sheltered under a high-tension fabric dome, held aloft by air pressure, like a giant inflated beach ball. Buildings squat like bunkers, especially the hulking hippodrome where the Plenum meets. Soldiers in armored vehicles barrel along the dark narrow streets, billowing fumes. They stop and hassle people at random, like they’re looking to pick fights. Hysan was right—I’m glad we’re veiled.
When we get closer to the hippodrome, the crowd of Arieans surrounding us begins to thin. People from all over the Zodiac are here to observe the Plenum in session. I see mystics from Pisces veiled in woven silver. Dark-haired Sagittarians in levlan suits that remind me of Nishi. Olive-skinned Virgos, too, as well as blond Librans and petite pairs of Geminin. On every street corner, red-suited Ariean soldiers stand guard.
The hippodrome’s been blockaded. Around us, people are talking about a bomb threat. The ambassadors and their aides have been taken to an underground shelter while bomb squads scan the building for explosives.