I lower my head, afraid to meet anyone’s gaze. These are not the Grays who guarded my mine, or the Reds who came to 121, or the ones who pulled their guns on me in the Promenade. They’re colder, harder creatures. I look up at the night sky and glimpse the stars through a break in the cloud layer. The air is cool, wet with rain. I try to feel it all, to mark these sensations, knowing a cell is where I’ll spend the rest of my days. In the mine, I thought sky was stone. And after a month in Camp 121, I forgot the stars were there. But now as I know it is the last time I will see and feel them, I wonder how I ever survived without them.
I’m escorted deep within the Citadel till we reach a pale wood door. Obsidians larger than any of the Telemanuses stand to either side. Holiday drags me through the doors into the room and shoves me into a chair in front of a long table made from a single slab of black wood. Across the table, under the golden angels on his bald head, Daxo au Telemanus’s huge eyes dissect me. He wears a violet tunic with a golden fox lapel. Next to him on the table sits a small aquarium filled with water and a maggot-colored animal. A carved creature with spindly legs and a gelatinous torso that reminds me of the mud leeches in the river outside 121. I shudder.
A spoon clicks on china. I tear my eyes from the monster to look at Daxo’s companion, the elderly Pink woman I saw with the Sovereign at Quicksilver’s. Elegance in beige robes. Her gray hair is spun up above her head like a frosted rose and held together by a simple silver clasp. Her motherly eyes, set in an old, distinguished face, watch me with a more human interest than Daxo has ever looked at anything.
No one speaks. My fear deepens.
After a moment, Daxo peers at his datapad and uncoils himself from his chair to walk to the balcony door. He opens it just as a streak of metal slams onto the stone parapet outside. I flinch as Niobe, fresh from the sky, walks in smelling like mine brimstone. Her armor is slick from the rain and leaves puddles on the floor as she stalks past her taller son into the room. Her snarling foxhead helmet stares at me with electric blue eyes before slithering from her face into the collar of her armor. Bloodyhell.
The pleasant, welcoming wife of the man who brought me from Mars is gone. Replaced by a violent warlord. Bags gather under her eyes. And her neck fat pushes against the collar of her too-tight armor. It’s been some time since she wore it, I know.
“Take off her muzzle,” Daxo tells Holiday. The woman undoes the metal arms around my mouth and extracts the plastic tongue depressor. I gasp air in through my mouth and work my tongue over the raw spots the plastic made on my gums. Holiday undoes the imprisoning armored jacket. I exhale in pain as my dislocated shoulder jostles.
“Lady Niobe—” I say quickly.
“Do not speak,” she says, barely able to look at me.
“Is Kavax—”
“Silence!” she roars. She slams a metal-clad hand down on the table, cracking the black wood. I reel back. “You will speak when spoken to, or Jove help me, I will…” Her words falter and she steps back. Her son reaches back to comfort her. I tremble, not just from fear, but from the inability to explain, to put into words how sorry I am. Rain patters against the windows. A fire crackles in the corner and I shift, unable to meet their eyes.
“Is Kavax alive?” I ask.
There’s no response. “Barely,” Niobe whispers. “He may still die.”
“Lyria of Lagalos.” Daxo leans toward me, his chair creaking under his immense weight. His voice alone is twice the size of me. “Your life, such as it is, depends on what you say in the minutes that follow. Do you understand?”
“I understand. I got information. I saw them, the people that did this. I can help you.”
“Good. The truth is your only refuge.” He nods to Holiday behind me. “But…if I discern you are lying or being less than forthcoming, other measures will be taken.” His hand brushes the aquarium. The creature inside slams against the glass, seeking the heat from his skin. “Invasive measures.”
“There was a man named Philippe…” I begin.
Daxo holds up a hand. “We’re aware of what you told the Watchmen about this Philippe. But horse before the cart. Are they alive?”
I nod.
“Thank Jove,” Niobe murmurs. “Were they hurt?”
“Not badly.”
“Where did you last see them?” Daxo asks.
“In an industrial building. After they slagged the shuttle, Philippe took us there and gave over the children to the others.”
“Where were they taking them?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t hear.” It’s clear Daxo and Niobe don’t believe that. I want to explain about Philippe, but their questions come in a sudden spit.
“Were they Golds?” the Pink asks. “These others.”
“No.”
“What Color were they?”
“Mostly Obsidian, Gray, thought I saw Reds, and a Pink.”
“Obsidian…” Niobe says in fear. “We should tell Sefi.”
“We can’t tell Sefi,” Daxo says. “Who knows what she would do with the information? They won’t even meet with Virginia any longer.”
“The Pink was in charge,” I say.
“Could be a Society black ops,” the old Pink says to Daxo. “Perhaps lurchers, or a Nightstalker.” Daxo nods and looks back at me.
“Did they have Venusian accents?”
“No.”
“Martian?”
“I don’t know. Mostly Lunese, I think.”
“Did you recognize any of them?”
I shake my head.
“Who was this Pink? The leader of the group that took the children?”
“Didn’t hear his name. Listen, I tried to get closer to hear clearlike, but I nudged a pipe. And then they came stormin’ after me.”
“Who did?”
“The crows.”
Daxo smiles in amusement. “You expect us to believe you outran Obsidians?”
“Didn’t bloody outrun them. I jumped into a vent.” I gesture to my shoulder and bloody hands. “What? You don’t believe me?” They exchange skeptical glances.
“Where did this supposed chase happen?” Daxo asks. “The trail will soon grow cold. We must catch them before they go off-moon.”
“They may already be gone,” the Pink says.
“We should freeze all air traffic,” Niobe says. “Search every ship.”
“Across the whole moon?”
“What they did to your father…”
“Mother, I wish we could. But that would expose the whole affair. Virginia would have to step down. Her judgment would be in question. The vote is scheduled for next week. This must be dealt with in silence.”
“It was in one of the reconstruction zones,” I say quickly. “There were cranes everywhere.”
“Which one?” Daxo asks. “Which zone?”
“I—I don’t know. I’ve only been to Hyperion twice.”
“She was picked up at an Alpha City checkpoint—21b, Senator,” Holiday says.
“I initiated a search before you were brought in,” the old Pink says. “Ten teams are scouring the area.”
“All Martians?”
The Pink looks at Holiday for an answer. “Yes, sir,” Holiday says. “Loyal men, all.”
“Good.”
“But we don’t even know what we’re looking for,” Holiday adds. “And the longer we look, the more attention we’re going to get. The Vox Populi will hear about it if we increase our presence.”
“That is not an option,” Daxo says harshly.
“They mutilated your father,” Niobe growls.
“And we will find them,” he replies. “With precision, not an army.”
“Then we need to refine our search,” the Pink says.