Beron’s right: the plan makes a great deal of sense. Since the Icarii government does not wish to officially interfere with the Mother’s Celebration, Ofiera and I will need to make it look like we’re independent operators. That means stealing an unaligned ship, like a GR9079-class Aster rig, nicknamed a grasshopper, to make us look like we’re at home in the belt. As a bonus, we’ll also cripple Dire’s smuggling operation that’s been going on under our noses for months, and any way we can cut down on the outlaws in the belt is a huge benefit.
The belt and the spheres beyond it are dangerous places. When combatant AIs in Earth and Mars’ Dead Century War reached consensus, they abandoned their creators and disappeared on a fleet of ships for the harsh planets beyond the asteroid belt, leaving behind one warning: do not follow.
If humanity takes even one step beyond the belt, the Synthetics will destroy us. We’re effectively locked into the inner planets because of Earth and Mars, whose treaty came only when they realized they could no longer afford to fight each other. Now, as the combined power of the Geans, they wage war against us, wanting the tech we created in peacetime for their own.
But Dire and people like him are every bit as dangerous as the Geans, even if they don’t have the same level of tech or the numbers that we do. While the Asters live within the asteroid belt on planetoids and other rocks, the outlaws routinely operate close to Jupiter in gray space and spit in the face of the Synthetic ultimatum, tempting retribution against all humanity.
“Make it look like a rival gang hit.” Beron shifts in his chair, his shoulders squaring as he leans toward us. “There are to be no witnesses. Is that clear?”
I add that to the growing list of restrictions. No military blacks, no government-issued HEL guns, no mercurial blades. Also no shields. What a pain in the ass, and we haven’t even started yet. “Yes, sir,” I say, and Ofiera echoes.
My finger traces the edge of Beron’s compad. “Do you think we could get a map of Val Nelson’s offices on the lowest level of Cytherea?” I ask at the same time I hear my name.
“Lito sol Lucius.” An officer in formal black and silver steps into the plain basement room. “You have a visitor.”
“Who?”
“Lucinia sol Lucius.”
My heart speeds at her name, but I return to base level with a nudge to my implant. I turn to Beron. “High Commander?” As much as I want to, I can’t very well storm out of the room with him right here.
Beron levels a frustrated glance in my direction, but it’s Ofiera’s encouragement that I focus on. “We’re not scheduled to go dark for another two hours,” Ofiera says, more to Beron than to me. “Let him say his goodbyes.”
Beron huffs but waves at me. “Go. I’ll see about the blueprints.” I slip through the door with the quick movements of a duelist. “You are due back here in fifteen!” he calls after me.
The officer leads me through the labyrinthine concrete hallways to the elevator. I don’t pay him much mind, too focused on the news of my sister. What is she doing here past midnight? “Lobby,” I tell the intelligence in the elevator, and we rocket upward.
It’s only three seconds later that the officer speaks. “Nervous?”
“What?” I shouldn’t be surprised—most people hate silence, find it awkward—but his question confuses me.
“Sorry.” He gestures to my boots. “You were tapping your foot. Here I thought duelists didn’t feel anything.”
I say nothing—I don’t owe him an explanation—but of course we feel things. Right now I feel excitement at seeing my sister, anxiety at how we last left things, worry that something terrible has happened to her and that’s why she’s come to the Spire.
I’m saved from the awkward conversation when the elevator reaches the lobby, and I exit before the officer. He’ll return to his duties—thankless though they may be—and I’ll find Luce.
It’s not difficult. She’s the only one dressed in pink and holosilver. Her shoulders relax as soon as she sees me striding across the lobby toward her, and my mind doubles its frantic activity. What’s happened what’s wrong are you okay—
I force it away.
“Luce,” I say calmly.
“Lito,” she says, less calm.
“I’m surprised you recognize me.” On Beron’s orders, the geneassist burned away all that made me who I am, leaving behind someone I don’t recognize. My lank black hair has none of its characteristic blue shine. My skin, usually clear, now has a spattering of lines at the corners of my lips and eyes. My nose, always big, now seems to dominate the entirety of my face. I look exhausted. Defeated. Old, despite my twenty-two years.
Luce furrows her dark brows. “Oh, Lito, I’ll always recognize you.” She reaches out and takes my hand. “Even now it’s like seeing your face through water.”
“Poetic.” It’s just like her to turn a bad situation into an artistic statement. I can’t help but smile.
“See? That’s the Lito I know.”
I clear my throat. Focus. “Why’d you come?” I ask instead of all the questions that plague me.
She licks her lips and tangles her hand in her many necklaces, a ring on every finger clinking against gemstones and charms. Her eyes dart around the room, checking her surroundings. For some reason, she’s nervous.
“Something came for you—to my house.” She produces a small box from her pocket and shoves it into my hand. It fits in my palm and looks like something that holds jewelry. But when I open it, I don’t know what to make of what lies within.
It’s old tech, something our parents used in their youth. About as big and thick as my thumbnail. Glittery and pink, a model Luce would buy. I take the little slip of metal from the box and turn it over as if that will reveal its secrets, but I know it won’t. It’s a playback device. I’ll have to put it on the bone behind my ear to hear what it has to say.
“I started listening to it, but stopped as soon as I heard who was on the recording.”
“Who?”
But Luce doesn’t answer. She looks around the lobby again. She’s being careful because she knows they’re watching us. Listening to us.
“The property manager says it wasn’t delivered by a drone. It just showed up in front of my door. Someone must have hand-delivered it.” She speaks quickly. “But management says no one was allowed in other than the tenants. Turn it over.”
I turn the box over in my palm—and almost drop it.
9tails, it reads.
I don’t say their name. Luce doesn’t either.
We both know who this is from. The one who told us stories of shape-shifting foxes, and the nine-tailed fox, the most powerful of them all.
I started listening to it, but stopped as soon as I heard who was on the recording, Luce said.
Hiro has sent me a message after all this time. And right when I’m set on a mission to hunt them down.
With one hand, I palm the playback device, pretend to return it to the box, and hand the empty box to Luce. Loudly, just in case someone is spying on us, I say, “I’m about to leave, so I can’t take this.” But Luce’s keen eyes followed my hands, and now she releases a shaky breath, as if the device’s disappearance is enough to satisfy her.