Present day
They descended into an old mining tunnel.
A few glimmers of ichor threaded through the black rock like rivers of opal, and while Eris admired its beauty, she reminded herself of the danger. Rhea had heard something down there, and they didn’t know how stable this tunnel was.
Eris strained to listen for any indication that they weren’t alone. She heard nothing more than the echo of their steps and the cadence of four other breaths crackling through the comm devices in their helmets, one more ragged than the others.
Rhea.
Concerned, Eris glanced back to see Rhea stumble, only just managing to hold herself up by the handrail. Through the helmet, Eris could see Rhea’s dark hair stuck to her temples, beads of sweat dotting her forehead.
“Rhea?” Eris said. “Are you all right?”
“Something the matter?” Nyx’s voice echoed through the shaft. The soldier was leading the way, the light from Ariadne’s tablet held aloft.
Rhea steadied herself once more. “I’m fine. Probably still shaky from transport sickness. Bullet crafts are unpleasant.”
Eris didn’t believe her. Rhea’s expression went blank when Eris studied her closely, but her shoulders remained slightly hunched. Her body swayed. She held up a hand, eyes pleading. A clear Don’t ask. Not right now.
Eris nodded once and continued down the passage. Who was she to demand someone’s secrets? She still kept her own.
As they descended farther into the earth, the air grew musty and cold. The tunnel bent, and Nyx’s light showed a gray door with a panel to the right. A slim shaft of light filtered from the bottom of the door, catching on the glittering colors of the surrounding ichor.
Nyx handed Ariadne the tablet and raised her Mors. Eris did the same and eased her body in front of Ariadne and Clo. If someone came out shooting, she would not have the others go in first. They weren’t soldiers trained for a potential ambush.
Ariadne went to work on the panel, tapping a few commands into her tablet. Within a few minutes, the door slid open.
Nyx and Eris met gazes. Nyx tapped her finger once to the side of her helmet just over her ear, then to the glass by her eye, and gestured to the other women. Eris understood why Nyx didn’t say anything over the Pathos: she would go in first, and if anything happened to her, Eris would lead everyone out. She’d sacrifice herself and stay behind.
Eris bristled at the idea, but Nyx made the motion again. A clear indication to stick with her plan. Before Eris could silently argue further, Nyx pushed open the door and went in, Mors at the ready.
And froze just a single step inside, a choked gasp wrenched from her throat.
“Nyx?” Eris shoved the door wide and went in. “What—” She made some strangled noise at the sight before her.
Not all of the miners had left Ismara.
Behind her, a retch echoed through the clinically bright room. Eris couldn’t tear her eyes away from what she saw in that medical wing, hidden away for a damn good reason.
In the middle of the room was a quarantine enclosure—no, that was too generous.
It was an airtight glass prison.
And in that cell were dozens of corpses.
Gods of Avern. These people had been executed, and not recently. Their skin was gray, puckered, stretched tight and making its slow way to bone. About thirty in all, with most wearing the rough clothes of their trade. There were a few minor Tholosian soldiers. Their skin was pale and waxy, partially preserved only due to the temperature in the room. Decay had begun to set in.
“Who did this?” Clo asked softly. “And why? Why would they . . .”
Rhea came up beside her, gesturing to a closed door just off the main cell. “In there,” she whispered. “Open it, Ari.”
Ariadne gave Rhea an unreadable look before hacking the door’s lock. When the bolt released, Eris took the lead and pushed open the door.
Another prison, smaller.
The three men in the glass cell wore the gleaming buttons of Tholosian officers. Eris counted them, taking in the symbols branded into the metal, each one symbolizing rank. The colors had faded, but these were undoubtedly a commanding officer and two juniors. She couldn’t see the two other names stitched to their breasts, but the commander’s read Talley.
Avern, Commander Talley even had a symbol of valor on the jacket of his uniform—the two infinity symbols for the God of Death. He’d probably retired to this godsforsaken outpost after the Battle of the Garnet. It was an easy position for an aging officer, away from violence and brutality.
At least, it was supposed to be.
Eris hung back as Nyx approached the glass. The men were as gaunt as the corpses in the other room, their skin nearly as gray. The three sprawled against the glass, dark liquid caked at their ears and the corners of their mouths. The ducts of their eyes darkened with red-black tears.
The commander opened his eyes.
Nyx gave a startled cry and jerked back, smacking so hard into the ichor wall of the cave that Eris worried she’d damaged her helmet. Eris stepped forward, alarmed, when she noticed the small tear in the arm of Nyx’s suit. The other woman quickly patched it from a kit in her belt pouch.
<Nyx, you okay?> Eris kept her focus on the commander.
<Yeah. Fine. The suit’s good. He just startled the shit out of me.>
Commander Talley blinked at the brightness, the whites of his eyes turned black. He was alive. Gods of Avern, he’s fucking alive.
What about the other two? They looked dead—seven devils, the commander had looked dead until the moment he opened his eyes. He was trying weakly to lift his head. How was he still moving? He had a cluster of small dark lesions at his temples, wattles at the base of his jowls.
Nyx hurried to the cell door, but the commander spoke. “No,” he croaked. “Don’t open. Might be dangerous.”
Nyx paused. Eris’s fear spiked.
“Keep it sealed,” he managed. “Safe . . . safer.”
Eris looked at Ariadne. “You said the pilot rattled off medical expertise during deprogramming, right?” Ariadne nodded. “Good. Then maybe he’s useful. Take the shuttle back to Zelus and tell him to bring the med kit and an extra decontamination suit from the lab.” Eris gestured to where Rhea stood in the corner of the room, barely supporting herself on the medical table. “And take Rhea with you outside. Get her some air.”
Ariadne seemed uncertain as she wrapped a supporting arm around Rhea’s waist. “Okay, but I don’t know if Cato can walk yet. Deprogramming—”
“Then tell him to crawl,” Eris snapped.
The girl hurried away as quickly as she could with Rhea.
Eris returned her attention to the commander and crouched near the glass. “We’re getting someone who can go in there to see you, all right?”
Commander Talley only drew in a shaky breath and took in their protective suits. He spent a moment studying Eris; she fought to remain expressionless. She doubted she succeeded.
“You’re not . . . with them?” he whispered.
“Who?” Eris asked.
“The . . . Empire.”
Eris managed to keep from showing surprise, but only just. “No. We’re not.”
The commander gave a shaky sigh of relief. That was proof enough of how close to death he was, that the Oracle was no longer in control of his thoughts or feelings. One had simply gone into background processing, One’s tendrils loosening as the brain began to die.
Eris pressed her gloved hands to the glass. “What did they do to you?”
Talley’s head lolled to the side. The blackness near his eyes cracked, sending a new tear of red-black down the grayed skin of his withered cheek. Eris hadn’t wanted to admit it to anyone, but sending for Cato had not been to examine this man alive—there was no saving the commander. No, they needed to examine his corpse.
And another part of her had wanted Ariadne and Rhea out of this room. Away from the bodies, the death, and the dying. Some people shouldn’t have to see such things. Eris wished she hadn’t.
“Check . . . the logs,” he said. “In my office . . . the barracks.”
“I will,” she told him. “I’ll make the Empire pay for this, commander. I promise.”
His nod was so slight she might have missed it had she not been watching. “They’ll be back,” he murmured, shutting his eyes. His voice was so faint, Eris could barely hear it. “For . . . rest of the ichor. You should . . . leave. Don’t let them . . . find you.”
“We’ll do that,” Eris said. “Thank you, Commander.”
They all remained silent, waiting for Ariadne and Cato to come. Eris didn’t want to voice her concerns to Nyx or Clo aloud—that they had come mere moments before the commander was to give his last breath. Eris slipped a hand into the pocket of her suit and grasped her scythe pendant.
Talley began to cough, red blood trickling from his mouth. He tilted his head to the side, sucking in a rattling breath.
The other hand went into her pocket where she kept Xander’s carved firewolf. She felt the grooves of the firewolf’s muzzle.
Xander, she thought, watching the commander’s chest go still. I’m failing.
“Eris?” Ariadne’s voice was hesitant at the doorway. “I’ve brought—”
“Gods of Avern,” Cato murmured, limping into the room.
Clo pointed to the commander. “Get in there and help him. He’s still alive.”
“He’s not.” Eris straightened. She was gripping her scythe hard in her glove. “He’s gone.”
Nyx swore softly.
Eris unhooked her necklace, bent her head and whispered last rites. Nyx and Cato joined in. Clo and Ariadne stayed silent but bowed their necks in respect.
Hold it together, she told herself.
When she had trained to be her father’s Heir, Eris used to imagine a space inside her chest. An empty chasm that was deep and endlessly dark. If she ever became overwhelmed—if she ever felt too much—she’d picture that space filling up and up and up, like the banks of a forest stream in the rain.
And when it became too much, she’d empty it. Empty herself. All those emotions would drain out of her, leaving that hole in her chest barren and dark once more. It used to come easily, but near the end, it was like the more that chasm filled, the more emptying it was like trying to drain a whole ocean.
She wondered if it’d ever be easy again. If it’d stop hurting so much.
The firewolf in her pocket reminded her that it probably never would.
Eris finished her prayer and returned her necklace to her pocket. She gave the firewolf one last squeeze and turned to the others. “He said there were documents in the barracks that would explain what happened. I saw the buildings just past the warehouse. Before examining the”—Eris took a breath—“the bodies. We ought to know what we’re dealing with.”
Without another word, she strode out of the glimmering tunnel—past those glass prison cells-turned-tombs—and hurried up to the surface. The others were only too eager to follow. Outside, she caught her ragged breath.
Rhea watched her from where she had been resting against a tree. “Eris. Is everything all right?”
“The commander is dead,” Eris said, and Rhea blanched. Eris cursed her tactlessness, but she couldn’t offer soft words. No comfort. She was not made for these things.
Hold it together. Eris left Rhea, striding toward the barracks. She didn’t care if the others followed. You can’t fall apart now.
Eris’s boots were silent across the moist soil. The temperature had dropped since they landed, even if she couldn’t feel it through her suit. If she hadn’t left Tholos—if she had remained the general—she wouldn’t have let them all die. Maybe they’d still be alive. Maybe—
Stop. A maybe solves nothing. A maybe changes nothing. Do your damn job.
The barracks were threaded with the dark red mushrooms and mold that snaked their way up the black timber of the officers’ quarters. In the thin afternoon light cast between the clouds of the overcast sky, it looked like the building was bleeding.
Eris swallowed hard and turned the rusted handle of the door, pushing her way inside.
The interior was wet and colder. The automatic lights flickered on, lazily, casting the room in a hazy, yellow glow. It was a bare room, only consisting of a single desk with a small cot off to the side. Nothing appeared touched or rifled through. It was a small relic on this dead planet. It had the damp, musty scent of disuse, dust gathering across the surfaces of the few pieces of furniture. How long had Talley been down in the glass box?
Eris walked over to the desk, her eyes skimming the stacks of paperwork, the little trinkets of Talley’s life. She picked up the small digipad in the corner of the desk that had stuck on a single vid file of a woman, also in uniform, standing outside the barracks with her head tipped back and a smile on her face, her hair ruffling in the breeze.
The caption read: Octavia on our first Ismaran anniversary.
Eris’s chest tightened, eyes stinging with unexpected tears. It took her a few tries with her gloves, but she managed to load the digipad. They were built to keep power for hundreds of years, a digital library that would last for three generations at least. Maybe more.
A creak made her glance up. The others had come inside but hesitated at the doorway. Their features were all stricken. As much as Eris wanted to spare them knowledge of whatever awful information they would find in Talley’s logs, they all deserved to know the truth.
“Ariadne,” she said, voice low. “Project the logs so everyone can see them, please.”
The girl nodded and navigated the files. A miniature hologram of the man they had just watched die loaded. Hale and healthy, barely a trace of the shadow he would become.
Gods. He’d recorded this less than three Tholos moons before. Turned from a proud, loyal, muscled Tholosian officer to a desiccated husk of a man, who had just died choking on his own black blood.
Four logs, dated just before the mines were reported as shut down. Eris clicked on the first one. The miniature version of Talley-I-32, paced the desk and spoke, as if he had returned from the dead:
Data log: 89 days ago:
<Comm. Arctus Talley-I-32:> The miners are making good progress. Extraction is difficult. Toxin levels in the caves are increasing as drilling progresses. We have introduced new tools to assist with their work—larger drills that run hotter. The sparks have injured several workers. Request additional protective gear, including respirators.
<Sen. Comm. Felix Rhys-X-49:> Supplies incoming, but continue work until then. Your usual quota of ichor by the end of the moon is expected.
<Comm. Arctus Talley-I-32:> Understood. In His name.
<Sen Comm. Felix Rhys-X-49:> For the glory of Tholos.
Ariadne pressed her lips together. She tapped the next file, from just a few weeks later:
Data log: 71 days ago:
<Comm. Arctus Talley-I-32:> Respirators have arrived, but despite this, the miners continue to sicken. Please see the attached file for a catalog of symptoms. Dr. Octavia Byze-M-71 is attending them, but so far, they are not responding to treatment. It does not appear to be contagious but acts like atmospheric poisoning. This is new—over the last five years I’ve been on this planet, I’ve never seen anything like this. Ten dead, and the medic center is filling up fast. Your command, sir?
<Comm. Arctus Talley-I-32:> Senior Commander, what are our next steps?
<Comm. Arctus Talley-I-32:> Sir?
<Comm. Arctus Talley-I-32:> Any time now. Sir.
Ariadne clicked open the med file for a miner. Chloe Marinos-C-1. Age: 39 Tholos years. Notes filled out by Dr. Octavia Byze-M-71.
First day: Patient experienced nausea and vomiting two days ago. Pulse 96 beats per minute—elevated from last recorded 58. Breathing heavy, labored. Eyes puffy. Skin sloughing on palms. Buildup of dark red liquid at corner of eyes and ear canals, and genitals. Swelling of lymph nodes in the neck and under the armpits, which were lanced. Medications ineffective.
Third day: No improvement. Physical health deterioration. Continued leaking of darkened blood from nose, mouth, gums, rectum, eyes, ears. Patient sleeping up to eighteen hours a day.
Fifth day: Patient’s teeth loosened in mouth. This isn’t the most medical description, but they were like chalk. She keeps spitting them into the bowl at her bedside. She keeps trying to speak to me, but I can’t make out her words, and she doesn’t know how to write. I’m making her comfortable.
Seventh day: Patient deceased.
With a small sound, Ariadne hesitated before clicking the next name, but Eris nodded for her to continue. Nikolas Lasko-J-14. Age: 19 Tholos years. Patient deceased after five days in the med clinic, same symptoms but more progressed by the time he was admitted.
Beside Eris, Clo was gasping as Ariadne pulled up the next name and the next name and the next. Each case file was virtually the same, but the longest anyone managed to hold out was fifteen days.
Fifteen days.
More names—gods, thousands of them. Tens of thousands. Eventually just names and time of death, no notes. Every miner on Ismara.
Ariadne loaded Talley’s last log. He was noticeably thinner, and he coughed wetly.
<Comm. Arctus Talley-I-32:> No one will see this. The soldiers have come, and they’re not letting any survivors leave. They’re running tests on ichor. Something we did during extraction released the illness. So far, it seems to lodge in patient’s respiratory systems. Not contagious, but Octavia worried about possible mutation. She made the mistake of putting that in one of her files. I saw them shoot her. Kicked her into a mass grave like she was so much rubbish.
None of us will make it off this rock. But I have nowhere to go. Not now.
We’re all a fucking experiment. They’re taking most of the ichor off planet—don’t know where—but they’ll come back for the rest. They’ll put me down in the mine before they go. We’ll have some automated meals, me and two of my cohort. We’ve lasted longer than the others. They want to see how much longer it will take. I suppose the Oracle will take notes as we die.
May the God of Death punish everyone who took this off-planet.
Cato stared at the projection in disbelief. “This isn’t possible.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, they wouldn’t do something like this. I’ve seen any number of plagues and illnesses, and quarantine is common even if it doesn’t seem contagious. But the Empire wouldn’t just leave them here.”
Nyx’s laugh was dry. “So, what, we hallucinated those bodies down there? Wake the fuck up, pilot. The Empire doesn’t care about you any more than they cared about the people on this planet. We’re all expendable.”
“Nyx,” Eris chastised. Like Nyx, Cato reminded Eris too much of what she had been like before becoming so close to Xander. Blindly following orders. Believing everything she had ever been told. She didn’t even have the Oracle as an excuse—it was brainwashing, pure and simple. “I’m going to tell you something you won’t want to hear, Cato.” She nodded to the projection, paused on Talley’s gaunt frame. “This is what it looks like when you don’t have programming to tell you what to feel and how to think. When they don’t make you forget. You have nothing to explain away your emotions, or tell you that the Empire’s reasoning is infallible. Every battlefield you ever saw had some atrocity covered up in your mind. Perhaps you’ve seen them in nightmares.”
A flicker of shock showed in his features. “No.” He shook his head once. “No. Those aren’t real.”
Like a child, Eris thought, learning the world for the first time. The Oracle kept everyone naive.
“I wish they weren’t,” Eris said. “But these people are real, and they were left here to die. You’re not dreaming this.”
Cato shut his mouth.
Ariadne cleared her throat. “It looks like there are references to other experiments, too,” she said, voice so small. “I can find the files, but it’s risky. If the Oracle activates, One could run a search on our location and find us.” Ariadne swallowed. “I could take the digipad back to the ship—”
“No,” Eris said. “The Oracle has trackers on these pads. One will know the second it leaves the atmosphere. Either we take the information now, or you waste time disabling it. Choose.”
“Okay. Save me the work,” Ariadne said. Her fingers sped across the tablet, fast as lightning. She went still as she found another list and projected the information in front of everyone.
The girl clicked the first file, labeled VESTA REPORT. Eris went numb as she read the first few lines: Ichor administered. Average survival rate: 10 days. Longest survival rate: 12 days. Shortest survival rate: 8 days. Total casualties: 5,673.
Clo’s breath hitched and Rhea reached out to grasp her hand.
Ariadne selected the next file. CERCYON REPORT. Ichor administered. Average survival rate: 9 days. Longest survival rate: 10 days. Shortest survival rate: 8 days. Total casualties: 10,422.
Close to half a dozen worlds. All of them on the outer fringes of the Iona galaxy. Small backwater planets and moons colonized by the Tholosian Empire that were rarely visited because either they were resourceless, they had restricted access, or their colonies never grew beyond the few people randomly assigned at birth to live there. They were places no one would miss.
And since the asteroid hit Charon and took out the Empire’s most productive food source, they were a drain on the Empire.
Too many mouths to feed.
Ariadne scrolled down to the last one, and Clo let out a choked whisper. “I know that one. I know that one.”
She seized the digipad from Ariadne and her hand trembled as she clicked on the words FORTUNA REPORT. The projection flashed. Clo pressed a hand to her mouth to muffle her sob. Tears filled her eyes and the digipad dropped to the floor with a clatter.
“Gods,” she breathed. “Oh, gods.”
Eris’s heart slammed against her ribs as she read the words projected in front of them all.
FORTUNA REPORT: Ichor administered. Average survival rate: 3 days. Longest survival rate: 5 days. Shortest survival rate: 2 hours 22 seconds. Casualties: 15,341. Complete extermination.
Clo snapped her head up and looked at Eris. “This is all your fluming fault.”
Rhea sucked in a breath. “Clo—”
“Don’t,” Clo never tore her eyes away from Eris. “None of you understand what she did. What she’s responsible for.”
Eris tried to keep her features even, composed. “Stop it, Clo.”
“The people on Fortuna saved me and Sher. And the Empire killed them like they were nothing.” She slammed her hand on the commander’s desk. “This mission doesn’t erase the things you did. It doesn’t make you any fucking different.”
The stares of everyone in the room burned. Eris had known the others would learn her secret eventually, but she had wanted just a bit longer before they resented her. Hated her.
Like Clo had. Their delicate shell of new friendship was cracked. Had she hated Eris all along?
“Clo,” Rhea whispered. “What are you talking about?”
“Ask her,” Clo snarled.
Eris’s hand went into her pocket. She felt for the firewolf, her talisman. “I never said I was different,” she said, ignoring Rhea’s question.
“No, I guess you didn’t.” Clo laughed bitterly. “You never even told me why you really left the Empire. Someone you cared about? Silting lies—”
“That wasn’t a lie.” Eris flinched at the hoarse, broken note of her words. Clo’s mouth snapped shut. “What happened with him—” Eris broke off. The firewolf felt like it burned in her palm. “The Empire takes everything from us, Clo. You know that more than anyone.”
“It gave you more than anyone else and you still ran like a godsdamn coward. You could have changed everything. You could have fought.”
You could have made it better, a small, inner voice accused. Like you promised Xander.
“Yes,” Eris whispered. “I ran. I was grieving and didn’t know what else to do, and I regret it. Is that what you want me to say? I regret it. But I’m fighting the only way I know how.”
Clo backed away, almost bumping into Ariadne. “I don’t want you to say anything. I don’t want anything from you. You’ve already done enough.”
Clo stomped out the door, her limp more pronounced.
Eris stood in the center of the dead man’s office, as lost as she’d been three years ago after Xander’s death, Clo’s words echoing in her ears. The projection still displayed the thousands of dead on a planet that could have been hers if she had only kept her promise to Xander. All of those people would be alive.
A godsdamned coward.
When Eris glanced at Ariadne, the girl stared back with a flicker of fear. And you don’t even know the whole truth, Eris thought. You’d be so much more afraid if you did. Eris had tried so hard to atone for her former life. No matter what she did, it would never be enough. It didn’t matter.
Eris felt a hand on her sleeve. Rhea. The other woman still looked unwell, unsteady on her feet. “Give her a bit of time to calm,” Rhea said. “But let’s do it back on the ship and wait for the supplies there. This place is poison.”
Eris nodded. “Thank you.” Her hand brushed against Rhea’s as she moved for the door. “Let’s—”
Rhea gasped. Her eyes went wide, pupils dilating.
The overhead lights flickered.
“Rhea?” Eris shook her. “Rhea!”
The other woman seized Eris’s hands in a grip that was shockingly strong. Rhea’s gaze bore into Eris’s. “You have so much blood on your hands, Eris. You hurt so much.” Then she shut her eyes briefly, exhaustion plain in her features. “I can feel your grief. Ever since we came here, I can feel everything. I can’t . . .”
“Rhea, what are you talking about?” Ariadne asked. She edged forward, but Rhea held up a hand, urging her back. Ariadne shot Eris a look of fear. “We need to get her out of here now. I think the ichor on this planet is enhancing her—”
Rhea fell to her knees and screamed.