My mother once told me that my father forgot where he came from while trying to gain acceptance to a world that would always look down on him. Maybe she doesn’t know everything, though, I begin to think. She has oft told me how the Nightsiders are barbarians, how the islanders came to Tao long before them. She has told me that we are in touch with the Mother Ocean and the rhythms of life far more than they could ever be. It is not us who should be shamed and made to feel lesser. Now I wonder if there is a truth other than her stories.
Teacher Croack talks about evolution and how the environmental and cultural pressures of Tao have shaped its people’s morphology. I wonder if there is a possibility that what he says is true, that the Nightsider phenotype is actually more physically and mentally capable than other humans. Might it be necessary to ensure the survival of the human species in the Nine Corridors of the Fracture through the spread of Nightsider genes and culture?
Camglobes hover, constantly observing. They float above our training and circle us when we taunt one another in the sanitizer afterward. They’re there just before sleep.
Who is really watching? I wonder. Is it Phaestion in his study, my father, or someone else?
I am fourteen, and soon after my birthday, I learn that far more people are in on the show. Phaestion calls us to the throne room and presents us with beautiful blonde Nightsider concubines. One girl for each of us, even Edgaard, and a pretty, young boy for Hanschen. They gracefully walk toward us one by one as their names are mentioned.
My stomach turns at the suggestion that I’m supposed to become enamored with one of these girls simply because I’m told to. I feel embarrassed and ashamed when my concubine comes down the steps and touches my arm. The stirring I feel inside, the desire to grab her and press my mouth to hers, is irresistible and disgusting all at once. I’m almost a man now, and I’m supposed to know so much more about what is happening, but I feel so lost in my own body.
Then all of a sudden I think of Nadia when the girl touches me. I shove her gently and say, “No thank you.”
Phaestion is perplexed when I demand to speak to him alone, but before he sends the others away, he plays another game.
“Sigurd.” He motions the giant to step toward the throne. Phaestion reaches up, grasps the back of Sigurd’s neck, and pulls him forehead to forehead in the gesture of brothers. “You are the only one my equal, the only one I trust to carry out the vision I have. We will share these spoils tonight, you and I, together.”
Sigurd grins; the praise he hears undoubtedly echoes what he feels he deserves. I see Perdiccus scowl with jealousy and Hanschen look away. Hanschen knows it’s a game, playing favorites and having us compete for Phaestion’s affections, but it still cuts him. Phaestion wants us all to be friends with one another, but he wants us to love him more. He bestows praise and affection on one then removes it suddenly, tossing his favoritism to another so easily these days I can’t keep track of who is considered the best of us. My love for him sours to bitterness when I reconsider all the moments on Bone and then in the infirmary as merely part of his grand act.
I feel nauseated when one of the concubines escorts my brother, now nine years old, from the room along with the others. Finally, however, it’s just Phaestion and me again, at last, after so long. But my heart has become stone.
“Why did you do that?” I ask. “Why are you forcing us to be around these . . . concubines?”
“It’s part of the programming, Edmon.”
“Programming?” I demand.
“Camglobes record our actions and broadcast them over the nets,” he explains as if to a child. “All of Meridian!” He gestures out the large bay windows to the megalopolis. “Of course it’s edited, but we’re very popular.”
“It’s our private lives!” I feel my anger growing.
“It generates a lot of revenue from merchants and vendors who want to sponsor the feed. Entertainment is an important source of income for House Julii. It helps the people get to know us, Edmon. You know better than anyone that leaders need the love of their people in order to govern. The programming creates personas that people bond to. When we’re of age, they’ll do whatever we want because we entertain them.”
I can’t argue with his logic, even though I feel extremely violated.
“Why haven’t I heard from my mother?” I ask suddenly.
It has been months since I’ve thought of home. My letters have become fewer and less frequent. I guess these concubines and Phaestion’s mention of governing have suddenly made me think of Bone and what I’ve been missing.
“You know your mother’s attempted insurrection prevents her from communicating with you. Parental interference isn’t allowed—”
“But everything is fine, right?” I regret my tone, but he shouldn’t expect me to be his best friend if I only get to see him once every few months.
He puts his hand on my shoulder and says warmly, “Your letters diffused mass violence. You did a great service for your people and for the Pantheon.”
I’m still uneasy. “Does my father know about all this? That you record us?”
“Of course!” Phaestion exclaims. “He’s proud of you, Edmon.”
He’s lying.
“You just sent Edgaard off with a girl four years older than him. He’s too young.”
“He’s young,” Phaestion says, nodding. “But he’s one of us. If he endures the same pains, he certainly should enjoy the same pleasures.”
This feels wrong. Not a year ago he was saying that I wasn’t ready to see such things on an aquagraphic. Now he parades sexuality in front of my nine-year-old brother without a care? Things are changing so fast. I am changing so fast, I feel like I’m losing myself.
“Edmon, my brother, you worry so much.” He shakes his head and smiles.
And you, Phaestion, my brother, are playing with us, like an orca plays with his food.
The coldness of my thoughts sting, and anger begins to burn inside me.
It is sleeping hours after the yearly Combat and Pavaka in Meridian. A champion from House Temujin has won in the arena. The Census, in their faceless masks and black robes, have claimed the unfit babes from the mothers of the city. They’ve marched them to the cauldrons for extermination in the Pavaka. For the first time, The Companions are old enough to attend the subsequent fertility ritual in celebration of a new year. After the killing of the Combat and the culling of the Pavaka, the orgiastic rites represent a rebirth. All men and women of reproductive age mate in a drunken haze to release the pain of the past days and begin a new generation. It is supposed to be a joyous occasion. I have refused, instead choosing to return to my quarters and sleep. I don’t feel very joyous.
I turn over and curl into a ball, trying to relax, but my body is tense. I’m angry at everything—this strange surgery that was forced upon me, the behavior of these Nightsider boys, the fact I am growing and becoming more and more like them every day. It’s been two years. I miss my mother and Nadia and Gorham. I miss the sunlight . . .
To the fathoms with you, Phaestion! I thought you were my friend. All you do is keep secrets. You think you’re special. Well, you’re not the only one. Not anymore! I rip the covers off me and throw them to the floor. A silver camglobe whisks through the air to avoid the sheets.