Cassius’s eyes tell me to be careful. And so do Seraphina’s. “I’m just a merchant,” I say with a humble shrug. “My family wasn’t like yours.”
“Oh, please. Don’t be ponderous, boy. Peerless aren’t the only ones with opinions. Pray tell, do you agree? Speak plainly or don’t speak at all. Were we meant to be more than just force? Weren’t we meant to inspire?”
“Yes. But then we forgot it.”
“See! An opinion.” She looks over at Cassius. “You really should let him have a mind of his own, my goodman. Sighing like that when he speaks his mind? Not good to quash the naturally inquisitive.” She turns back to me. “Now, Castor, it’s been ten years since we purged the Sons of Ares from our moons and eliminated the last of the Slave King’s terrorists. Out of curiosity, how many rebellions and terrorist attacks do you think Ilium has had in the last year?”
“Forty-three,” I say instinctively, based on the ten-year annual average of reported incidents before the Fall. Seraphina’s eyes narrow at the precise number.
“Two,” Dido replies.
“Just two?” Cassius asks in suprise.
“A shooting and a bomb. The hierarchy has not changed. Do you know what inspires this loyalty to the Compact from all Colors? Honor. Honor in work. Honor in morality. Honor in principle and family. Our rules are harsh, but we obey them from Gold to Red. Romulus eliminated the rigged quotas in mines and the latifundia, has begun to phase out the Obsidian gods, and makes each man understand he is part of the same body. He has replaced subjugation with participation. Given a reason to sacrifice for the betterment of all. And it starts with us at this table, the head of the body.”
“Each man and woman given liberty to pursue achievement, with the best of his virtue and abilities, and rise within the station for which his flesh was made—a sacrifice of the Self for the preservation of All.” I murmur the words of the Compact like scripture. “Admirable.”
“Yes,” Seraphina says, her eyes warmer to me than ever before.
“Why did you not carry on the fight? Why become traders?” Diomedes has been nursing the question, waiting for a pause in the conversation. The timing is awkward.
“You mean fight for the Ash Lord?” Cassius asks, sipping his wine. “I think not. His daughter murdered my friends at the Triumph.”
“What of you, Castor?” Dido asks. “Don’t you want revenge for your family?”
I feel Cassius’s gaze on me, the weight of expectation as I regurgitate his lessons, his maxims. “What good would it do?” I answer loyally.
“Is that your answer…” Dido nods to Cassius. “…or his?”
How many times have I lain in my bunk on the Archimedes lonely, fantasizing of strength, of revenge? Of sailing home and taking back my grandmother’s scepter, her chair, and putting Darrow and his rabid wolves in chains? I always thought it a fantasy, something that could never be. But now that I see how much strength is left in Gold, how much of the old virtues, it grows harder to see it as the vain, idle fantasy of a little boy any longer.
Gold is not dead.
“Is that why you want war?” Cassius asks. “For revenge?”
“In part, yes,” Dido replies. “To avenge the wrongs the Slave King has done us. But also to heal the chaos that he has made. His Republic has had ten years to create peace. They’ve failed. The time is right for the Society to be rebuilt. We have the will, the might. But we need the spark. That is why I sent my daughter to the Gulf. To retrieve that spark. Thanks in no small part to you, she brought it home.” She pauses a moment to smile with no kindness in her eyes. “But now, I fear it is missing.”
Finally, the twist. The reason behind all these innuendos and games.
“Is that an accusation?” Cassius asks warily.
“Oh yes, my goodman.”
“That’s why you went back into the Vindabona…” I say to Seraphina. “But you didn’t bring anything back with you.”
“I brought your razor,” she says.
My heart sinks in my chest. I missed it. I’ve walked straight into their trap. They’ve been toying with us, with me. And here I was admiring their civilization like a gorydamn anthropologist.
“And where is your razor?” Dido asks. “We’re dying to know.”
“It was lost,” I say.
“Our hull was punctured and the razor pushed into space before the cellular armor could close the breach,” Cassius explains.
“Is that so…Regulus?” Dido leans back. “The fish has left a foul taste in my mouth. I think it is time for dessert.” She motions to the servants and the door to the room opens. Two Obsidians with bulging pale arms enter carrying a load between them, which they set in the center of the table.
It is our safe.
“THE SAFE WAS WELL HIDDEN,” Dido says. “But of course our men are nothing but thorough. Fortunately, the krypteia who discovered it was one of mine.”
“If you are so thorough, then you know what sort of safe that is,” I reply before Cassius can speak. The safe might hold our damnation in our family rings, but it also is our only leverage. It can’t be lost. “It is a halcon-7. It has four inches of rolled steel with an analog tumbler lock instead of a digital mechanism, which makes it impervious to electronic incursion. More importantly, it has three Sun Industry military-grade plasma charges embedded on the interior wall faces of the safe. You drill, it will detonate at a temperature of three thousand degrees Fahrenheit. But of course you know that, or you would have already opened it.”
“Indeed,” Dido says. “Personally, I would very much like my daughter’s efforts not to have been spent in vain.” She holds up a finger as I’m about to reply. “And I would be wary if I were you at further insulting my intelligence by claiming your razor is not inside this safe. I bear insults poorly.” Then her lips slide into an enigmatic grin. “But open it for me, and we can be friends again. I am a most generous friend.”
I glance at Seraphina.
“Is that the only reason we’re alive?” I feel foolish for letting her lower my guard. A strain of grandmother’s malice pulses into me, despising her attempts at manipulation.
“Castor, let the adults speak,” Cassius says slowly, his eyes fixed on Dido. “The safe can be opened, for a price.”
“A price?” Seraphina laughs in appreciation of his boldness.
“We are merchants, after all,” Cassius replies.
“What is your price?” Dido asks.
“For the key to your war, I offer a bargain. Give us our ship. Give us our pilot, and any surviving crewmembers of the Vindabona. Give us our freedom. And once we reach safe distance from Io, we will send you the combination.”
Dido wags a finger at him. “Are you trying to make a fool of me? Castor left out a feature of the halcon-7. Didn’t he? Clever boy. A secondary detonation code. One that can be given in place of the real code. One you could supply me with when you are cruising toward the Belt.”
“And why would I want to destroy what’s inside?” Cassius asks. “We take no issue with your war. Only your value of our lives.”
“Yes.” She runs a finger over her lips. “Why indeed?”