Zodiac (23 page)

“Rho! Rho! Trust in Guardian Rho!”

A dozen noisy people push their way in. They look like university students, and one of them waves a holographic banner with a picture of me behind my drums. They’re marching down the aisle, shouting my name.

My stomach plummets. I know the youth vote will only hurt me with these ambassadors.

Albor Echus calls for order, and a couple of soldiers force the rowdy students to leave. When the arenasphere quiets down, it takes me a minute to regain my composure.

The blade-faced man, Charon of Scorpio, lifts the long speaker’s staff in his hands, signaling that he wants the floor. As he rises, a profound hush falls. He radiates a kind of magnetism even I can feel.

“My dear Rhoma.” His voice has a greasy thickness. “How sweet of you to come all this way to read us stories, when your people must surely need you at home. How long have you held your position? A week?”

“Almost three, Ambassador. But we’ve been traveling at hyperspeed, so my calendar’s a little mixed up.”

“And when exactly did you complete your Zodai training?”

“In between attacks from Ophiuchus, under the training of my Guide and Advisor Lodestar Mathias Thais.” I smile at him. “Anything else?”

“Yes, dear girl, there is. I’m old and a little hard of hearing, so forgive me, but did you just spend half an hour telling us your House was attacked by the boogeyman?”

People burst out laughing, and Charon’s thin lips curl into a smile, his eyes far from friendly.

“I believe I said Ophiuchus.”

“My dear young lady, we bow to the grief of your stricken world. How confusing this must be for one so inexperienced. No wonder you’re seeing monsters under your bed.”

He signals to an Acolyte, who stands and points at my head, as though he’s going to shoot me with his index finger. Instead, a film beams out from his Paintbrush—a Wave-like fingertip device Scorps use for designing holographic blueprints of their latest innovations.

The film shows Cancer on the night of the Lunar Quadract. The image has the grainy grayness of footage taken through a long-range telescope lens, but the vision of our four pearl-white moons makes my chest ache.

“Please note”—Charon shines a light from his own Paintbrush to indicate our smallest moon, Thebe—“prior to the horrible incident, scientists on this Cancrian moon were experimenting with a new type of quantum fusion reactor. Let’s run this video in fast-forward. Pay close attention, Excellencies.”

I steel my nerves for what’s coming. First, an immense explosion knocks Thebe off course. Then Thebe knocks into Galene, which smacks into Orion, which explodes against Elara, filling the sky with debris. In superfast-forward, the rubble sweeps around Cancer, forming a rocky ring, while a score of larger pieces flame down through the atmosphere, splashing into our ocean and setting off ripples of destruction. When the video ends, my cheeks are wet with tears.

Charon turns to the audience. “Now I will show you what caused this.”

His Acolyte’s next projection shows a star exploding at the edge of our galaxy, far out beyond Pisces. It glows like a thousand suns, expelling sharp rays of debris and hot gases.

“That is a massive hypernova in the Sufianic Clouds. Our data proves cosmic rays from that event triggered a critical overload in Cancer’s quantum reactor, located on the moon Thebe. In short, this dreadful event was caused by a freak accident.”

Cosmic rays from the Sufianic Clouds? Has that been the omen this whole time? Was Caasy right that I’m being deceived?

Charon gestures toward the screen. “House Scorpio tracked this event with our telescopes. Your predecessor, the honored Holy Mother Origene, must have been sleeping not to foresee it.”

“How dare you,” I breathe through my teeth.

Charon’s smile is like a razor’s edge. “Child, no one blames you for fantasizing about monsters. You’re suffering post-traumatic stress. After what you’ve been through, who wouldn’t be?”

“What about Virgo?” I snap. “Who set their planet’s atmosphere on fire?”

Charon’s thin-lipped smile makes the air colder. “Virgo was also experimenting with quantum fusion. Regrettably, the hypernova discharged radiation for many days.”

The Acolyte in the audience screens another video, showing a satellite exploding above Tethys and lighting its upper atmosphere on fire. “That satellite housed Virgo’s quantum reactor,” says Charon. “The result was a storm of acid rain that washed over the planet. Empress Moira would confirm this fact if she could speak. Unfortunately, she’s in a coma, but I have sworn affidavits from her own scientists.”

After he shows these documents, I don’t know what to say next. If I hadn’t been in the room when Moira faced Ophiuchus, I would doubt everything, too.

Who’s going to believe me if Moira doesn’t wake up soon and set them straight?

“So you see,” says Charon, “these sad events have rational explanations. There’s no grand conspiracy at work, only nature and chance.”

When Charon concludes his presentation, Albor Echus rises. “Our thanks to the Eighth House for this report. I think we’ve heard enough.”

I START TO OBJECT,
but
Hysan signals me to wait. He whispers to Ambassador Frey, who stands and takes up the speaker’s staff. “Excellencies, this needs further discussion, but the hour is late. I propose that we table this item until tomorrow.”

He’s buying us time. The hum in the audience increases to a din of complaint, and Albor Echus says, “Must we really continue with this adolescent claptrap?”

I catch Sirna’s eyes and nod, signaling her to stand and speak. She squints defiantly at me, and, with an obvious display of reluctance, she rises and says, “Excellencies, I agree with Ambassador Frey. Let us reconvene tomorrow.”

Another ambassador raises a willowy white hand, signaling for attention. It’s the delegate from House Aquarius. He stands to speak, though he doesn’t take the speaking staff.

Ambassador Morscerta, his nameplate reads. I didn’t notice him before. His alabaster-white features are narrow and elongated, and his long hair falls in a cloud of silvery waves, yet he doesn’t strike me as an old man.

Actually, I can’t tell his age. He has a smooth high forehead, a protruding lower lip, and small gray eyes that burn like nuclear fission. There’s even a shade around him, a barely noticeable aura that shifts in and out of sight as he moves. Can he be a hologram?

When he speaks, I have to reassess everything. His silky soprano sounds way too feminine to be a man’s voice. Not effeminate, not female, just different from any voice I’ve ever heard.

“I wish to hear more of this unusual story,” purrs Morscerta. “Mother Rhoma, will you agree to meet us here tomorrow for a continuation?”

“I can be here at daybreak.”

• • •

By the time I reunite with Mathias and his parents, Hysan has disappeared. Sirna agrees to meet us at the embassy later.

It’s been a long day, but I’m glad to be with the Thaises, heading back to their quarters. I miss being near family.

As we walk through the city streets toward the village, the high-tension fabric sky glows lead gray in the early dusk. The neighborhood around the Plenum lies quiet, thanks to new security blockades. The scene feels almost peaceful, despite the soldiers patrolling in armored cars.

Amanta wears a handsome blue cloak draped around her shoulders, and her shorter husband wears an ordinary business suit and skullcap. On the surface, Amanta and Egon seem like a mismatched couple; but the more they talk, I realize they share the same calm sensitivity and responsiveness to each other that all Cancrians value.

“Mathias tells me you’re helping with the resettlement,” I say. “Are you working with Admiral Crius?”

Amanta looks at me and frowns. “Crius died in the quake. We’re working with Agatha and the Matriarchs now.”

I stumble. “But . . . Admiral Crius ordered me home just this morning. He sent Dr. Eusta by hologram to tell me.”

“You must be mistaken,” she says, shaking her head. “Crius died many days ago. I’m sorry, Rho.”

I almost run into a streetlamp. Was somebody masquerading as Dr. Eusta?
If so,
who
? Mathias looks at me questioningly, but I shake my head,
not now
.

As we walk, Mathias occasionally scans nearby roofs and alleys through his field glasses, while Egon speaks in cool, measured phrases about the Cancrian exodus. “Most survivors have emigrated to Gemini’s mining planet, Hydragyr, our nearest neighbor.”

At least they’ve found shelter, but the image of my water-loving people entombed in the hot, dry beryllium mines of House Gemini turns my stomach. I’m about to ask how they’re faring there, when Mathias shoves me to the pavement.

My hand and knee scrape the ground hard, and all I feel is Mathias’s weight on me, shielding my body with his own. Through a sliver of space, I spy a particle beam cutting a bright sizzling line across the wall above us.

“The alley!” he shouts to his parents. “Take cover!”

He helps me up, and the four of us sprint into the dark narrow gap between two buildings. My heart is hammering my chest as more beams hiss around us. Mathias draws his weapon.

“What’s happening?” asks Egon. “Why are they shooting?”

Amanta flares a laser torch into the depths of the alley, and we see it’s a dead end. “Keep low,” she says, and I notice she’s also clutching a weapon in her hand.

Hot lesions slice across the walls, and shards of granite fly up. These fiery beams are meant for me. . . . Ochus must have seen my Plenum speech, and now he’s fulfilling his threat.

Mathias scans the nearby roofs. We’re trapped. Without thinking, I start edging toward the street. All I know is if I show myself, Mathias and his parents can get away.

I never should have dragged Mathias into this. I shouldn’t have let him come on what was always a suicide mission. I won’t let him—or his family—die for me.

“Keep still!” Mathias slings me around and crushes me against the wall. “I see the sniper.”

Particle beams fizz into our alley, etching the pavement with flames, so we retreat farther back. Mathias keeps scanning the building across the street, and Amanta, who’s also wearing field glasses, does the same. “Looks like two men, at least,” she says.

She and Mathias take aim at an upper window, although the only thing I see is a dark pane of glass. Can Ochus be hiding behind that glass, looking back at me this very minute?

I could end this now. It feels like an easy solution, if only Mathias would let go of me.

“I can’t get a good shot from here,” he whispers, turning to Amanta. “Mother, please keep Rho safe.”

“Mathias—”
I reach out for him, but Amanta takes a firm hold of my arm. Her grip is like iron.

“I will,” she says. “Do what you must.”

“Mathias,
DON’T
!” I shout.

He’s already scaling the alley wall. It’s solid concrete, and the seams he finds to jam in his fingers and toes are almost invisible. He moves so fast, he’s practically swimming.

Three stories up, Mathias fires his laser, and the window across the street shatters. Particle beams hiss back at him, cratering the wall above our heads. He ducks behind a cornice as concrete explodes around him.

I blink in the spray of dust, trying to see if he’s okay. “Mathias!”

Amanta inhales sharply. “Egon, hold her,” she says, passing me to her husband as if I were a bag of nar-clams.

Then she steps toward the street and starts firing her own laser at the window. Volleys sizzle back and forth, and the smell of burnt concrete sours the air. Egon holds my head against his chest, trying not to let me see.

The horrible noise builds and builds, until it’s over. And then silence is worse than sound.

“They’re retreating.” When I hear Mathias’s familiar baritone, I break loose and run to him. He drops down from the wall to the alley floor, and I see an ugly burn on his arm.

“You’re hurt—”

Pulling me into a hug, he presses a hard kiss on my forehead. “Doesn’t matter. You’re okay.”

There’s a flutter overhead, and I look up to see the faint shades of three large, birdlike creatures silhouetted against the fabric sky. Mathias aims his laser, but his mother says, “It’s all right. They’re friends.”

The bird-shaped devices glide across the street and enter the broken window, merging into darkness. Whatever they are, they seem to absorb almost every photon of light.

“Cancrian Secret Service. Ambassador Sirna sent them.” Amanta parts her cloak, and in the dimness, I see she’s wearing body armor underneath. She draws a fresh laser cartridge from her belt, breaks open her weapon, and reloads it.

“Holy Mother has made enemies here,” she says. “We feared there might be trouble.”

“It was Ophiuchus,” I say.

“We’ll track the shooters down. Trust me, we’ll find out who did this.”

Mathias steps toward her, and they press the backs of their right hands together. Such a simple ordinary gesture, and yet I can almost feel the current of emotion flowing through their touch.

“There may be other snipers.” Amanta steps out to check the street, then motions us to follow. “Keep to the shadows. We’ll need to hide Holy Mother in the safe house tonight.”

• • •

Amanta guides us to Sirna’s safe house.

As soon as we enter a side door, we pass through the pale blue rays of a biometric security scan. Then she leads us down a flight of stairs, through a steel gate, and down an elevator to a deep sub-basement. After another bio scan, she opens a pair of thick, heavy doors, and we enter what feels like a vault. It’s strange to see Cancrians using so much stealth technology. It’s not our style.

The common room has a wallscreen, a couple of faded sofas, a kitchen alcove, and a lavatory at the back. Doors on either side lead to small bunkrooms, and in the center of the room, Sirna is waiting.

“It’s good to see you unharmed, Guardian.”

“I need everyone to keep their Ephemerii away from here,” I announce in a loud voice. Now that I’m almost certain Ochus knows I’m on Aries, he might be able to track me down through people using the Psy near me.

“Mathias has already informed us that everywhere you enter must be kept free of devices connected to the Psy,” says Sirna. “He said the people behind the attacks have been using Psynergy against you, and that’s why you can’t do your readings.”

I look at Mathias. His father is tending to his arm. It’s hard to stick to any decision I make about him. Just when I think I can’t forgive him for not believing me, he goes and saves my life.

“About the troops gathering on Phobos,” says Sirna, giving me the briefing she tried to give earlier, when I stormed out of her office. I wouldn’t listen before, but as she shares more details, I begin to understand the wider implications. “My agents have infiltrated their subterranean camp. They call themselves the Marad, and they are being funded by someone with deep pockets.”

“They’re the ones who stirred up the worker revolt on the Sagittarian moon,” adds Amanta, “and they may be behind . . . other terrorist attacks as well.” It’s clear she meant to say what happened to our moons and Virgo, but she doesn’t want to contradict me publicly.

“We think they’ve established cells in every House,” says Sirna.

“Who are they?” asks Mathias. “What do they want?”

“We don’t know their objective yet. The recruits are mostly teenagers. Unemployed Scorp dropouts. Child laborers from the Geminin mines. Impoverished slum dwellers from Phaetonis. Risers from every House.” Sirna touches her blue brooch and gets a faraway look, as if she’s listening to a private message.

A Riser is a person born into the wrong House. It’s a change that happens when a person’s exterior persona conflicts so strongly with their internal identity that they begin to develop the personality and physical traits of a different House. And it can happen at any age.

Most people handle it well and either choose to stay on their home planets and continue living their lives, or move to the House that reflects their rising persona. There are rare cases where the change doesn’t take well, and a Riser can have an unbalanced ratio of personality traits from their new and old Houses. Sometimes it deforms them. Sometimes it turns them into monsters.

“Are they being brainwashed?” I ask.

She drops her hand and looks me in the eye. “They’re being fed, clothed, and welcomed into a group for the first time in their lives. You might call that brainwashing.”

Amanta lifts off her heavy armored vest. “We count fewer than a hundred thousand troops so far, but new recruits arrive daily.”

“The expense to house and train them must be substantial,” says Mathias, his voice distant, like he’s lost in thought. “You don’t know who the backer is?”

After a moment, Sirna says, “We’re trying to track the money flow. No single individual could afford so much. We suspect a wider conspiracy.”

Egon finishes bandaging his son’s arm. He’s been quiet throughout the discussion, but now he asks, “Do you think some of the Houses might be in league, like the Trinary Axis of old?”

“That’s what we fear most,” whispers Sirna.

Everyone falls silent. No one wants to believe that could happen again.

Amanta drops her bulky gear belt on the floor. “Please keep this information to yourselves for now. We can’t expose our covert agents in the field.”

I nod and look away, wondering where Ophiuchus fits in. Could he be funding the army?

After a while, Egon switches on the wallscreen, and while they watch a newsfeed about the escalating Sagittarian conflict, Sirna steps into the kitchen alcove to put on a kettle for tea. I follow her in and lean against the cooler. “Why don’t you believe me?”

She spoons tea leaves into a cast-iron pot. “Since the crash of our moons caught everyone off-guard, my agents have searched day and night for reasons. Your classmate’s messages steered us to Ophiuchus. We’ve investigated your story.”

“And?”

“And nothing. That trail is dead.”

My fingers curl tightly. “You mean you can’t see him.”

“Guardian, use your head.” Sirna lays down her spoon and faces me. “The secret army on Phobos is our real concern. Whoever’s funding them almost certainly hired those snipers tonight. They’re your enemy, not some
big bad
from a children’s tale.”

I have to struggle to stand still. Her sarcasm, like Mathias’s doubt, makes me too furious to form sentences.

“Forgive me, Guardian,” she says, setting out a row of teacups. “Duty demands that I speak the truth to you. Duty can be a harsh master.”

“Keep looking for Ophiuchus then. That’s an order.”

“As you wish, Holy Mother.” She gives me a curt bow. “I’ll look again.”

I start to leave. Then, grudgingly, I turn back. “Thanks for helping us tonight.”

She pours the boiling water. “I live to serve Cancer.”

• • •

The safe house clock says it’s early morning in the Ariean capital, two hours before the Plenum convenes. Mathias and his dad have gone up to street level to check for snipers.

Now, for the first time in weeks, I find myself in the company of only women. After living for so long with a pair of testosterone-driven males, I’ve almost forgotten what a feminine atmosphere feels like. Ambassador Sirna and I aren’t exactly two pearls in a nar-clam, but on the surface at least, we’re calm.