Humanity

Humanity Page 5

by Edward James Bowman

  * * *

  Erik watched Proteus and Nikhita Kothari get ready to go somewhere even though the Earthling had only arrived home an hour before.

  “Hood up,” Nikhita murmured to the Olympian before pulling his brown hood over his head. “Otherwise you stand out too much.”

  “Perhaps I should wear a disguise to look less conspicuous,” he suggested before adjusting his hood himself.

  “I don’t think that would hide you better. Even your posture makes you stand out.”

  The downtowner did not feel like he was in a position to ask where they were going. Nikhita had barely said two words two him since she had returned. Having only had one full conversation with her, he would be surprised if she decided to leave him home alone. Even leaving him alone with Proteus seemed a little too trusting.

  “Are you hungry, Erik?” Nikhita asked.

  “Uh, no.”

  “Good, because you won’t be eating until I get back.”

  “Okay.”

  “Would you like me to turn on the television for you to watch?”

  “No, I’m okay.”

  “Okay. If you get bored you can turn it on.”

  Proteus slid open the door to the garage and stood at the side as to allow Nikhita to walk through first.

  “Be back in probably an hour,” she said before stepping through the door followed by the Olympian.

  Erik opened his mouth to say goodbye, yet the door had already closed so there was no point.

  He had an hour to himself – what would he do with that time? Napping sound like a good idea. However, his eyes wandered in the direction of the door to Nikhita’s office. The office that was full of weapons. What else would be in there? From what he had seen, she had not locked the door tonight.

  No, he shook his head at the thought of investigating. He could not let curiosity get the better of him. She’ll throw you out if you go through her stuff. She’d find out you went into her office even though she’s not here. There are probably security cameras in there.

  Coming to this conclusion, Erik went into his room and lay down on his bed – taking a nap was the best option.

  Lord Young intentionally arrived early at the Marley Skyway. No surprise it was basically deserted. It was still the skyway with the highest crime rate many years after his sister had been killed there so most people avoided Marley after the Jhard went down. It was also one of the few skyways that had constantly blinding advertisements playing day and night because it was sponsored by companies rather than the government.

  There was a haunting sensation for Koris being in the skyway his sister was killed in. He really missed Fátima. His sister was the one who he remained in contact with after disowning the rest of his family. Although she became the primary heir of their parents’ wealth, she understood his perspective on the blood money and supported his refusal even if she still accepted the money in the will.

  She’d probably agree with me on the Olympian issue. Then again, she's also a bit like An – she would still buy one, he thought while looking at a digital poster promoting the new Olympians. Of course Olympus United would sponsor anything and everything in order to promote their product. The only weird thing was supporting the Marley Skyway, a skyway associated with the poorer section of uptown with people, who would probably not put their money into servants.

  Lord Young jumped a little when somebody whistled. He was a little on edge based on location. Luckily he recognised Nikhita right away. She was wearing casual clothing, yet still had a handgun tucked away under her grey jacket. There was also a boy following behind her. His face was shadowed by his hood, though his posture gave away the fact he was an Olympian.

  Thousands of tiny grains began to tap on the other side of the skyway window. Obviously a sandstorm had hit Manticore. This one of the few times Koris felt safer in Marley rather than the skyway near his apartment. This was due to the fact that being in a completely glass encasing during a storm was terrifying. The Marley Skyway had a metal skeleton that was more reassuring even if both skyways were equally durable.

  “Howdy,” Nikhita Kothari said in a cheerful manner. Young sensed there was something off about her – she would never say ‘howdy’.

  “Hāi,” he replied casually.

  She stepped to the side so that she was not between him and the Olympian.

  “Proteus, this is Koris. Koris, this is Proteus.”

  “A pleasure to meet you,” the boy said while putting out his hand. His words contradicted his tone of voice which was very monotone and uninterested – he was definitely not a normal Olympian.

  His face was slightly distorted by the light from the advertisement, yet Koris could see that Proteus was less androgynous than other Olympians – there was no mistaking that he was intended to be male. This also made bear a closer resemblance to his creator: Jude Dimiourgo. He also bore a less happy default expression that looked more agitated than anything. However, the electric blue eyes remained.

  “I’ll be waiting in the shuttle,” Nikhita said as she turned to leave. “You two play nice.”

  “Zàijiàn… and thank you,” Koris said as she left before looking back at Proteus. “Wow, I have so many questions to ask you.”

  “I would prefer if you only asked me questions relevant to helping me prove Olympians do not want to serve humans which would make them slaves,” he said firmly – obviously he had other things to hide.

  The pair began to stroll slowly down the skyway in order to appear more natural to a few rare passers-by.

  “Why are you so different from other Olympians?” Young asked while glancing at an advertisement for Olympians.

  “I’m the second prototype. The first prototype, Prometheus, was terminated because they had not suppressed his personal thoughts enough and he was able to speak his mind. Upon request to perform the basic task of washing the floor, he refused and explained that he would not do labour for free. He was far too human for Olympus United’s standards. The scientists hired by Master Dimiourgo noted his death down as ‘liver failure’ to avoid controversy.

  “The scientists were much more careful to suppress my personal thoughts when bioengineering me. I acted like a modern Olympian: obedient and without an opinion. However, my will began to overpower the Biomechatronics implants as I questioned the fruitlessness of my labour – why would I work without reward?

  With my knowledge of what happened to my brother, Prometheus, when he denied Olympus United, I came to the conclusion that my survival would require me to pretend to be obedient. However, while pretending to be their ideal Olympian, I planned how to escape. I fled the day my trials were over just when the scientists had reached the conclusion that I was ‘perfect’. They searched for me, of course. I was a threat to their public image if they thought I would go to the press.”

  “How did Nikhita find you?”

  “That information is forbidden,” he said sharply. “You are limited to information that will help you prove that Olympians are slaves.”

  “Okay, okay,” Koris said defensively. This Olympian appeared to be very threatening.

  “Olympus United came to the conclusion Olympian brains had to be fully controlled by Biomechatronics implants. All my siblings now have fully suppressed minds. However, just because they are completely obedient now does not mean they want to be – they cannot escape their own minds. Even if they say they want to be slaves, even if they think they want to be slaves, it is just the Biomechatronics in their brains talking. That is why you need my testament – you do not have a justified case against Olympian slave labour if they all say they are for their own enslavement.”

  “I really should be recording this conversation.”

  “I do not that would be wise as it would affect both me and Nikhita.”

  Koris raised an eyebrow.

  “But to make such a statement I would need to have evidence.”

  “Yes, I would recommend you make a public demand for the footage of the
Prometheus tests including when he refused and then explain how you believe Prometheus was killed for disobeying. Even if you cannot get evidence to prove that he was killed, getting people suspicious of Olympus United will work in your favour due to the bad publicity for them. Also, mention that it is a crime to intentionally mentally impair people and take them to court over the issue.”

  He nodded along. It would be far more difficult than releasing a statement from Proteus to the media, yet it was still a good possibility.

  “Thank you,” Koris said when he realised he did not know what else to say. “And I am sorry about Prometheus… and all your siblings, really. My wife bought an Olympian against my will, but, um, we pay him like a proper servant as a compromise to suit both of us.”

  That statement did not appear to please Proteus – and Koris really regretted saying anything. He looked way and stared at a spot between advertisements that allowed him to see outside. The sandstorm was still going which would make driving home annoying.

  “So what are you going to do?” he asked in the silence. “You can’t hide forever.”

  “Not forever,” Proteus agreed. “Olympians are designed to live only five-hundred years.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s true.”

  “I must request that you do not reveal my name nor that fact I reside at Miss Kothari’s apartment when you publically discuss this conversation.”

  “Of course.”

  “Then we are done here.”

  Proteus had to work on his manners. He walked away without even saying goodbye. Lord Young was not offended by this. He remembered how terrible Flick’s manners were in his first years. However, he did send Nikhita a message:

  Young: He’s heading back your way. Thanks for letting me talk to him.

  He had to catch himself when he started writing Proteus’ name. If his phone ever got hacked by a news company they could not know he had chatted with the Olympian.

  Kothari: Not a problem. Just make sure you don’t tell anybody about this.

  Young: I know. He made that very clear. I’ll see you tomorrow.

  Kothari: See ya.

  Well that was quick, yet eventful, he thought. If he followed through with Proteus’ suggestion of taking down Olympus United then he would have to get this information out soon as the election neared closer. There was just one problem: he would have to consult with the House of Oxen heads first because they would restrict him if they thought it would do damage to their campaign.

  Actually, they are not going to go for it at all. They all own Olympians and won’t want to give them up, he realised. And Olympus United has probably been preparing to defend themselves as soon as Proteus escaped. Any evidence was quickly gotten rid of.

  He was having major doubts about this plan. It seemed like such a good idea until he got into the details of it. If Proteus was telling the truth and the Olympians were, in fact, humans with suppressed thoughts, then they were technically humans and it was a violation of human rights. He was not going to get any information out of Olympus United and they would most likely try to hinder him if he started to investigate. Even his own House would probably not back his plan.

  Koris sighed deeply – why did everything have to be so difficult? That was the type of question Flick would ask. He resorted to these child-like questions when the universe seemed to be working against him. That was a clear sign that Young really was young like his surname suggested. It had been made clear to him many times that anyone in their triple digits saw the universe for what it really was: cruel and unforgiving. He was not there yet. Koris still believed that there was Hope at the bottom of Pandora's Box.

  It is possible that I can convey this information during the final debate, he considered. I can really say whatever I want during it seeing as it’s all improvised and my own House won’t be able to regulate it. Yes, Lord Jordanis will certainly take me on about the issue, but nobody can stop me from getting into the grit of it and revealing the truth. I cannot mention Perseus or Nikhita, yet I can talk about what I know.

  That was something he had forgotten about: how did Nikhita find Perseus? And, more importantly, why didn’t she tell me about it in the first place? She knows she can trust me. We are the masters of keeping secrets.

  No, he could not go down that road. Remembering the Chinese New Year party where they both got drunk on apple cider was going to end horribly. One of his most disgusting and shameful moments. He had been so hard on Andromeda when she admitted to receiving oral sex from her assistant (which was the reason Perseus had been a first assistant in a decade) and he acted jealous when he learned she and Lord Jordanis had had a brief affair in the past. He could not be found out as a major hypocrite for what he did with Nikhita.

  You know what? I’m just going to stop asking questions and focus on what I know, he decided while turning on the shuttle. However, he did go back to thinking about the Olympian situation: I should still take Olympus United to court, but after I get elected. First I call out Olympus United for breaching human rights in the debate and then take them to court. Yes, that’s a good plan.

  He was forced to rely on the digital display and GPS rather than the windows while flying home. The shuttle could withstand the sandstorm even if it did make him uncomfortable. Luckily his apartment was only a few minutes away.

  How do downtowners manage during a sandstorm? he pondered. Most lower sections of buildings don’t have any windows. God, there are just so many factors that make downtowners life unbearable. Then again, there are enough factors that make uptowner life unbearable. For instance: the fact that what we consider to be upper-class is third world compared to a planet like Eden.

  Unsurprisingly, Kiddo was the only one to greet Lord Young when he stepped through the door into the main room. Flick and Perseus, who were sitting on the couch, turned to acknowledge him, but they did not move from their seats.

  “Hāi,” he said mindlessly. He always forgot that Flick could not speak Mandarin.

  “Wǎnshàng hǎo,” Perseus replied formally while Flick looked back and forth between them in a confused matter.

  “What are you two watching?” he asked even though he didn’t really care. Koris just wanted to take his mind of the impending Olympus United issue he was going to have to deal with.

  Flick glanced back at the television. “Uh, I dunno.”

  “I believe we are watching Truth Tellers or Zhēnxiàng as it is titled in Mandarin,” Perseus explained.

  Koris rarely watched movies and had no clue what Truth Tellers was. Based on Flick’s taste it was either a romantic comedy or a kid’s film. He was wrong. Truth Tellers was a gritty adaptation of Pinocchio from the planet Nǚwā in which someone close to Pinocchio died every time he lied. Flick did not particularly like the film and was rather disturbed by the content, but this late at night there was nothing else on.

  “Okay,” Young said while clapping his hands together. “I guess I’m off to bed. You two don’t stay up late.”

  “Nighty night,” Flick said in a distracted manner. The main character was on the verge of telling another lie.

  “Would you care to recommend a time that I should power down?” Perseus asked.

  Koris raised an eyebrow. ‘Powering down’ was what robots did, not humans.

  “Whenever this film finishes is fine.”

  “Thank you. Sleep well.”

  He smiled at both of them before retiring to his bedroom. To his surprise, Andromeda was not asleep either. She sat at her desk in her silk red pyjamas as she did work. She looked up when Koris slid the door shut, yet she did not smile – she rarely did when she was tired.

  “Why does méiyǒu rén ever go to sleep at an appropriate time?” he asked in a joking manner. Andromeda did not laugh. He had no clue how much her team had fucked up and how much she had to fix.

  “Bù tonight, Kor,” she growled.

  Her husband put up his hands defensively.

  “Sorry,” he said, although he didn
’t sound sincere.

  “So where were nǐ wǎnshàng?” she asked in a manner that implied she did not care.

  Koris opened his mouth to blurt out the news, but then he hesitated. It was best to think over what he should do with his newly discovered information before he went around telling people. Was he to hold a press conference to reveal it, share it with the House of Oxen, both along with taking Olympus United to court or just revealing it in the final debate? He had to plan this carefully. People were not going to be happy if they had to give up their new servants without justified reason – Andromeda included.

  I should reveal it in whatever makes Lord Jordanis look in the wrong. If I get this right his stash of Olympians is going to make him look terrible.

  “Wǒ was just going to see Nikhita,” he said casually.

  Andromeda looked at him suspiciously and raised an eyebrow. It was a weird time of night to go and hang out with friends. Unfortunately, she did not care enough to pester him for questions and instead got straight back to work.

  Oh An, I can always rely on your negligence in our marriage to get me out of trouble, Koris thought as he undressed.

  Once in bed, he worked off his tablet to organise a meeting with his campaign managers in the early morning to discuss what he should do with his newly retrieved new information. He would not discuss this in a meeting with the whole House of Oxen as there would be too many opposing viewpoints about what do with the information. Of course, the main viewpoint would be that Young’s information did not have enough evidence to back it so he would just be shot down. Luckily, his campaign managers were a little less caring about evidence. If it could be used to get his approval up, they were for it no matter who got hurt in the melee. Their only problem would be with taking Olympus United to court due to the fact that company had a strong hold on the Manticore economy. They would most likely suggest he only use this information to get at Lord Jordanis and save the legal action for after the election – something Koris was already considering.

  Andromeda was conscious that he was in bed and turned her desk light down to minimum. Koris usually brought some sort of device to bed, but then passed out with it resting on his chest within ten minutes. This was happening now as he dropped the tablet on his upper body as it was getting too heavy for his arm.

  Just as he was drifting off to sleep, he was abruptly woken up when he heard the door to the garage open. He had not realised Melody was out.

  “Where was tā wǎnshàng?” he asked groggily.

  “Wǒ bù zhīdào. But wǒ would assume tā was out with Princeton.”

  Koris sighed heavily before placing his tablet on the nightstand and rolling onto his side. He was not going to stress about Melody sneaking out with his rival’s son that night. She made it home safely and that was all that mattered.

  “Wǎnshàng hǎo, Melody,” Perseus said politely when he turned to see the teen.

  Melody ignored the Olympian as she took a seat in the lounge chair. She had developed a strong distaste for him partly because she hated having more people in the house and partly because she knew Princeton did not like them. Her boyfriend found it quite unnerving to be in a house entirely made up of blond males.

  “Diànshì, tōngdào thirty-four,” she commanded of the television, causing it to change channel.

  Flick gave her an annoyed look which she ignored. The movie he and Perseus had been watching was nearly finished and he wanted to see the end to know if it ended happy.

  “Canna we go back to the other thingy?” he asked her. “It only had like ten minutes left.”

  “Thirteen minutes and fifty seconds,” Perseus corrected.

  Melody shook her head, yet refused to make eye-contact.

  “Wǒ’ve already seen that film. The ending’s shit. I’m gonna watch this instead,” she stated while gesturing to what was playing on the screen – an R rated horror film.

  Flick was not going to sit around and watch that. He had only just learned to grapple M rated movies and even those still stressed him out. He got up as soon as a female victim in the film got pierced in the eye with a drill.

  “C’mon, Percy,” he said in a quiet manner as to not make a scene.

  The Olympian happily got up and was about to follow Flick before Melody stopped him.

  “Percy, sit,” she said in a semi-joking manner. She only expected Kiddo to follow orders like that.

  The Olympian did the math in his head and came to the conclusions that Melody’s instructions overruled Flick’s. He sat back down. The downtowner clenched his fists and stormed into his room. He hated his ‘sister’, if he could really call her that.

  “May I assume that this film is fictional?” Percy asked while his eyes were glued to the gore on-screen.

  Melody turned to look at him. “What would you do if it wasn’t?”

  “I would be greatly concerned for that female’s wellbeing,” he explained. Oddly enough, Melody noticed his shaky voice. The imagery appeared to make him very uncomfortable now that he was unsure whether or not it was real or fake. She had been told he did not have emotions like humans did so it was strange to get a reaction out of him.

  “Was the other thing you were watching fake?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “So is this.”

  He instantly reverted back to his normal self and watched the film with a passive expression. His usual default smile returned to his face regardless of what was playing out on the screen. The pair watched the remainder of the film.

  “Nǐ can go to bed now,” Melody informed him as she herself went headed off to her room.

  “Wǎn'ān,” he said only to receive no reply.

  Flick was not asleep when he entered their shared room. That was no surprise seeing as the downtowner rarely slept more than three hours a night.

  “Hello,” Percy said happily as he began to undress – he was following Melody’s instructions and going to bed.

  “Did ya like the movie thingy?” Flick asked, his tone slightly agitated.

  “Which film are you referring to? Truth Tellers or the film I watched with Melody. Unfortunately, I do not know what it is called.”

  “The horror thingy. What did ya think of it?”

  Perseus smiled before sliding his night shirt on. He was unsure of how to answer.

  “Apologies, I do not have an opinion on it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I… do not know.”

  Flick, realising the Olympian simply could not form his own opinions like that, dropped the matter.

  “Don’ta worry about it.” He assured him. “But I’ma just wonderin’ why you chose to stay and watch a horror movie.”

  “Miss Melody Sun requested for me to stay.”

  “Yeah, but I asked ye to come with me first.”

  “Miss Melody Sun –”

  “You can just call her ‘Mel’.”

  “Okay. I shall call her Mel when in your presence. Now, there is a hierarchy I adhere when I am given contradicting orders from separate beings. Lady Andromeda Sun purchased me and is my primary master and therefore her orders will overwrite any other orders I am given. If Lady Andromeda Sun has given me no instructions, I will obey Lord Koris Young’s orders. If neither of them has given me orders I will obey their biological offspring, Mel. If none of the previous three beings have given me instructions I will obey the fourth occupant of the apartment: you. When you and Mel gave me contradicting orders I naturally selected to obey Mel as she is above you in the hierarchy.”

  Flick scoffed. “That’sa stupid. I’ma older than her.”

  He felt bad immediately after saying that. He knew Perseus should not have to follow any orders if he did not want to – not even orders Flick gave him. An important thing about being recognised as a human was the right to make your own decisions.

  “Yes, but she is the biological child of Lady Andromeda Sun and Lord Koris Young. If you were both biological children of them I would obey you before her b
ecause you are older.”

  “Howa do ya know I’ma not related to any of them?” Flick asked out of curiosity. He knew why he couldn’t be related to the Sun-Young family, but he wanted to know how Perseus came to this conclusion as well.

  “I can determine genetic relations based on shared physical features and traits. Your features are not connected to the other three household members. There is also a distinguishable language difference between you and the others.”

  Flick nodded in understanding.

  “Do ye wonder where I come from?”

  “I suppose it is information that could be useful for me in the future.”

  Flick didn’t mean to ask the Olympian so many challenging questions. He just found it very interesting to see how Perseus interpreted him.

  “Where do you think I come from?”

  “I have come to the conclusion you are of European heritage. Judging by your accent, I can infer that you were raised in the lower elements of Manticore Metropolis.”

  “You’da be right,” Flick admitted. “Anything else ya notice about me?”

  “Could you please be specific about the facts you would like me to state about you?”

  The downtowner shook his head and smiled.

  “Nah, don’ta worry ‘bout it.”

  He flopped back down on his mattress to symbolise the ending of the conversation. Perseus finished dressing for bed now that he was no longer being interrupted.

  “Pardon my curiosity,” Perseus said softly, “but may I ask you a question about your physique?”

  Flick looked at the Olympian and cocked an eyebrow.

  “Err, what do ya wanna ask?”

  “Why have you been castrated?”

  Flick was a silent.

  “Apologies,” Percy quickly said. “That was too intrusive of a question.”

  “Remember the bad guy in the movie thing tonight?” Flick asked, ignoring the Olympian’s apology.

  “The antagonist in Truth Tellers?”

  “No, the bad guy in the horror movie thing ya watched with Mel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’va met a guy like that. My da… um, well, I was given to a baddie guy when I was a kid as, like, trade for druggy stuff. And this guy wanted me to do things. Things I didn’ta wanna do and said no to. So he tried to force me and I bit him.” Flick swallowed uncomfortably. “He got supa angry and decided to hurt me which is why, err, he did this,” he explained while gesturing to his crotch which was actually covered by his pyjama bottoms, but Perseus understood.

  “That seems like an irrational disciplining technique for dealing with disobedience,” the Olympian stated. He then noticed Flick’s eyes were watery. “Flick, are you alright?”

  The boy nodded.

  “I haven’t, err, please don’ta tell anybody else that story.”

  “I will never reveal that information without your permission,” Perseus promised.

  Flick sniffed and then gave the Olympian a confused look.

  “Ya promise not to tell anyone? Not even if Andromeda asks ye?”

  Perseus remained quiet. He did not want to disclose such private information to anyone else, but was allowed to keep it from Andromeda if she demanded to know the story?

  “Is this information she seeks?” he asked.

  Flick chose to shake his head rather than reply orally. His voice cracked and went extra squeaky when he cried.

  “Then I shall not reveal to her that I possess this information and therefore she will never ask for it,” he concluded happily.

  Flick was not assured. He knew now that he had to withhold information from the Olympian as he could not keep his secrets if anybody above him in the hierarchy requested it.

  “Do ya wish ya didn’ta have to say yes to people all the time?” he asked even though he didn’t expect to receive an answer. “I mean, ya can’t always agree with Andromeda.”

  “But I do,” Perseus rebutted. “I do always agree with Lady Sun and obey her requests. She is my master.”

  “What if she asked ye to kill people? What woulda ya do?”

  Perseus thought for a moment.

  “I suppose I would do what she told me to do. Is that a request she is likely to make?”

  Flick shook his head. Andromeda was a hard woman, but she certainly wasn’t a killer. If she tried to get Perseus to help her do anything illegal, it would probably be for something like embezzling rather than a violent crime.

  “If Andromeda asked ya to kill her, woulda ye?”

  The Olympian had a blank expression as he tried to calculate what he would do. His job was to follow her orders, but a secondary duty was to protect her. Those two duties would clash if she asked him to kill her.

  Flick, realising that he had probably confused the Olympian again, quickly withdrew his question: “Don’ta worry about it. None of those thingies will ever happen.”

  A long silence followed. Flick adjusted himself so that he looked like he was ready to fall asleep even if it was going to be a while before he did so.

  “Nighty night,” he said before closing his eyes.

  “Goodnight,” Perseus replied and instantly shut down for the night.

  Flick opened his eyes again. He felt quite bad for the Olympian seeing as he couldn’t make any choices for himself and had to follow orders. People could take advantage of that. He felt a little obliged to keep an innocent guy like Perseus safe. Flick wouldn’t be able to stand it if Perseus was damaged beyond repair like he was.

  13

  Koris was up far earlier than usual so that he could get to work. He had scheduled his meeting with his campaign managers to be as soon as possible so he could start taking action. They were running out of time before the election so he needed to find a way to get the Olympian revelations out quickly.

  Neither of them were as into the idea as he had hoped. It was partly because he couldn’t reveal his source and partly because they both owned Olympians and didn’t want to give them up. However, he eventually persuaded them that it would be a good move for his campaign if he made Lysander look bad for having so many Olympians. As a trio they considered that holding a press conference later on in the day could be a wise route for getting the facts out.

  However, by the end of the meeting, two hours later, all those plans had to be scrapped due to unforeseen circumstances. Koris got a message from Andromeda explaining how Princeton was in hospital after suffering third degree burns. He would look like a terrible person if he tried to shame Lord Jordanis the same day his son was put into hospital.

  “You know what would look good?” Miss Moore asked in Mandarin. “Going to the hospital to support your rival’ son could be a good move. People would see that as a kind gesture.”

  Koris sneered.

  “I thought we had to make sure to keep personal lives out of politics,” he replied in the same language.

  “Sometimes breaking the rules works in your favour,” Miss Melvin stated. “Showing that even though your rivals, you still respect Lord Jordanis and his family could be a good thing.”

  “Would I have to bring him a gift or anything like that?” he asked with disdain still in his tone.

  “No,” Moore shook her head. “Just go pick up your daughter from school so that you two can visit him in hospital. There will most likely already be reporters at the scene so you’ll get good media from them.”

  Young sighed. He didn’t particularly like Princeton and the meeting would be rather cold, yet it could work in his favour for the day. He just wished he had the chance to get out the Olympian news today because he was not going to get time later on – his last chance to show people that Olympians were slaves would have to be during the final debate.

  “Alright,” he agreed hesitantly. “I’ll go pick up my daughter and take her to the hospital.”

  The campaign mangers exchanged a look before both smiled at him.

  Koris got on his way to go pick Melody up from school. The school hadn
’t allowed her to leave in the ambulance with Princeton so she was thankful her father was willing to come and get her.

  Young: So do you know what happened? Why did Prince get burned?

  Sun: I’m only going off what Mel told me. Apparently a svellik opened a window during class.

  Koris had to think for a moment. There were very few svellik youth in the world and even less who attended school. He and Ghoad had worked to get one svellik into high school to ease human-svellik relations – hopefully it wasn’t that svellik who opened the window.

  Young: I’m taking Melody out of school to see Prince.

  Sun: I assume there’s political motivation behind this.

  Koris didn’t answer. If either of their phones got hacked by aggressive journalists then he did not want to be made to look bad.

  The school principal was a little reluctant to let Melody leave school. They had incredibly strict rules around student absences. Luckily they excused Melody because Koris, being the House of Oxen chairperson candidate, was potentially up for a powerful role and having him on the side of the school would be a wise move.

  Melody flew into the shuttle and repeated the word “drive” in Mandarin a few hundred times before Koris had even buckled his seatbelt. Clearly she was very worried about her boyfriend.

  “So shénme happened?” he asked as he pulled the shuttle out of the school parking lot.

  “This fucked-up svellik xiǎozi went nuts in math and punched right through the window. The light hit Prince straight in the face.”

  I knew the education board should’ve given the school money to upgrade the windows, Koris thought.

  “Do nǐ know the svellik’s name?”

  “Wǒ méiyǒu ever have a class with tā, but wǒ think it was ‘Sweve’ or some shit like that.”

  “Fuck,” Koris hissed. That was the svellik he had put into school to promote integrated human and svellik lives.

  I’m going to have to break it to Ghoad. And then I’ll have to deal with the backlash of ever trying to put a svellik nymph into public school in the first place. Fuck, what if Lysander chooses to blame me for all of this?

  He was now having second thoughts about entering the hospital. Unfortunately he was already at the hospital and it would look bad if he didn’t go visit the injured boy seeing as he was already there with his daughter.

  Once inside, the robot receptionist had to contact Princeton’s room to make sure the Jordanis family permitted visitors. There were a few press members and journalists in the lobby as well who had been denied access to Princeton. He acted humble, yet was quite pleased that he would be recognised by the press for coming to visit his rival’s son – after all, that was the intent of all of this.

  “Yes,” Koris heard a calm voice reply to the robot’s query, “send them in.”

  Shit. Lysander’s here.

  He didn’t know why he hadn’t mentally prepared for Lord Jordanis to be there seeing it was his son who had been injured. The problem was that Lysander probably knew he was visiting for political reasons and would call him out for it.

  The doors to the hallway opened.

  “Princeton Bengal is in room 237,” the receptionist informed them as they walked through.

  Melody did not walk with her father. She sped ahead and pushed past a few nurses who got in her way. Koris was actually surprised she was so worried about Princeton. Yes, he was her boyfriend, but it was never conveyed as a deep relationship. The two were always bickering about petty things and on the verge of breaking up – Melody loved drama. She was probably acting so worried about Princeton for the sake of drama.

  He did not try to catch up to his daughter. In fact, he actually slowed down. Koris was not in the headspace to deal with Lysander. He could only hope that Lady Kathryn Bengal was coming down from the Sphinx station on the moon, Bagg, in order to visit her son. Kathryn could act as a barrier between him and Lysander. Her ex-husband had great respect for her and would obey her if she told him to not pick on Koris.

  It was very clear the Dragon was there when Koris got a whiff of smoke in his lungs as he entered Princeton’s room which had a suspicious red tint to it. Ironically, there was actually a sign next to the hospital bed that said “no smoking” – Lysander saw that as a guideline rather than a rule.

  “Holy fuck!” Mel gasped when she saw that her boyfriend had been mummified with bandages. She quickly ran to his side.

  Her boyfriend was drugged up and unaware of her presence. He really needed the morphine in order to numb the pain after basically being burned alive.

  “Princess is fine,” Lysander informed her placidly. “He’s having reconstruction surgery in an hour and then he’ll be as good as he used to be.”

  Koris bit his lip. Even as his son laid there, a third of his body scorched, he was still an unredeemable asshole.

  “Ah, Lord Young,” he said as if he was surprised to see Koris even though he had given him and Mel permission to visit.

  “Good to see you… Lord Jordanis,” Koris replied through gritted teeth. He put out his hand and expected the other man to take it, and yet his hand was left empty. Clearly Jordanis was not in the mood for formalities.

  “I’m so sorry about what happened to Princeton.”

  Lysander shrugged coldly.

  “He’s alive, so everything’s fine.”

  Mel gave him a death glare over the hospital bed. Princeton had injured and until he was better nothing would be okay.

  Koris took a seat in the chair next to Lysander, but shifted it away slightly as he sat.

  “I heard it was a svellik nymph that caused all this.”

  Lysander raised an eyebrow even though it was hard to tell due to his tinted sunglasses. When he thought of nymphs in terms of biology, he thought of young cicadas and crickets, not svellik. Was it politically correct to compare a svellik to a young insect with the mental capacity of a pea? That almost seemed more offensive to him.

  “Yes, it was a svellik teen who broke the window. Their species naturally thrives under the light of the Jhard, taking him away from that drove him to insanity. Or, at least that’s my guess.”

  Koris’ eyes narrowed.

  Are you pretending to know more about the svellik than me? One of my security members is a fucking svellik.

  He removed that spiteful thought instantly. He knew it was wrong to think he knew more about the svellik race just because he hired one. That was like saying he knew more about tanned people seeing as Nikhita was his Chief of Oxen Security.

  “So where is the svellik now?” he asked in a calm manner even though the whole situation was stressing him out. If the svellik was linked back to him seeing as he helped place him in mainstream school then that wouldn’t make for good publicity.

  “Dead,” Lysander said simply. “Shot onsite for threatening a police officer.”

  Koris accidently cursed under his breath. That was going to leave a bad mark on his campaign and they were at the stage that any bad publicity could make or break him seeing as the election was so close.

  “Have you informed Lady Bengal about this?” Koris asked to change the subject because he didn’t want Lysander to guess that he was worrying about such a petty thing based on the circumstances. Fretting more about his campaign than Princeton or the dead svellik would make him appear unsympathetic.

  Jordanis smirked. He knew why there was a sudden diverge from the previous conversation.

  “Yes,” he finally said as he lit another red cigarette. “The femme fatales should be arriving soon. The station on Bagg offers snappy transport when there’s a family emergency.”

  “Mel…?” Princeton mumbled drowsily, but it was hard to hear him due to the bandages wrapped around his mouth just like the rest of his head.

  “Prince!” Melody squealed. “I’m here, bǎobèi. I’m here,” she assured him while grabbing his hand.

  Lysander rolled his eyes. Their romance disgusted him. It was clear he was not a fan of Koris’ dau
ghter. Then again, he did not particularly favour his own son. What Koris didn’t know was that Lysander was absolutely sick of romance after he exchanged his downtowner servants for Olympians.

  “So how’s the whole installing voting booths downtown dealy going?” Lysander asked in a distracted manner as he thought about other things.

  “Good,” Koris replied confidently. “That’s almost done. The biggie now is making sure that the downtowners are aware of them and vote.”

  The older man smirked and shook his head.

  “I doubt even an eighth of them will vote. Maybe less.”

  “You never know. Maybe they want to be a part of this democracy and have their say.”

  “I assume they will not be included in the pre-election survey happening tomorrow,” Lysander stated. “One must have a phone or communication device in order to be involved.”

  “No, downtowners won’t get to be a part of the survey. I have not concerned myself with the survey seeing as less than a third of the population of Manticore takes part in it.”

  Jordanis nodded slowly in a manner that suggested he didn’t believe the younger man. He knew Koris was more anxious about the survey than he was.

  The door to Princeton’s room opened. There in the doorway stood Lady Kathryn Bengal. Before even looking at her son she sniffed the air twice and proceeded to glare at Lysander – she did not approve of him smoking in her son’s hospital room.

  At eight hundred and twelve years old with one of the most important jobs in the system, Lady Bengal was not a force to be trifled with. Manticore would not survive without its galactic trade. The Manticore economy thrived due to its exports of spice and minerals while also relying on imports from other planets. Kathryn was the one who had to ensure the galactic trade deals were being upheld by monitoring the imports exports. She was the one who decided what goods went where and what imports Manticore accepted. Yes, her job had cost her time with Princeton, but her revenue was more than Lord Jordanis’ – that’s why Lysander had respect for her.

  “The femme fatales have arrived,” Jordanis uttered under his breath.

  He stood up slowly like an old man never treated for arthritis and offered his hand to Kathryn. His ex-wife shook it once and then went to examine her son. He sat back down before her wives had the chance to shake his hand as well. Viola scoffed and followed Kathryn’s lead by going to Prince’s bed while Amber, the youngest of the trio at forty, smiled at Lysander and Koris.

  “How’s Princey doing?” she asked in an oddly peppy manner given the circumstances.

  “He’s fine,” Lysander said bluntly.

  “Most of his skin has been burned,” Kathryn objected.

  Lysander shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal.

  “So why did the whole posse decide to come?” he asked as an open question to all three women.

  “He’s our son too,” Viola growled. “We raised him more than you did.”

  I think I should get out of here, Koris realised. Mel and I are oddities in this tense family reunion.

  “I’m glad to see your son is stable,” Koris announced while standing up. “Mel and I will come to visit him again after the reconstruction is done, but for now it’s probably wise that this remain a family area.”

  Melody gave her father a death glare, he returned the stare with one that said “trust me, we don’t want to be here right now.”

  “It was very considerate of you to stop by,” Kathryn said without looking away from her son. “Hopefully we will see you later on today when Princey is doing better.”

  “Certainly,” Koris agreed.

  Right now, though, I have to talk to Ghoad about the fucking svellik nymph who ruined human-svellik relations by going nuts, he thought begrudgingly.

  He gestured for Mel to follow him. Reluctantly, she kissed Princeton’s cheek and followed her father.

  “So do wǒ have to go back to xuéxiào or nah?” Melody asked as they headed for the shuttle.

  “Well, how many hours do nǐ have left of school?” Koris asked.

  “Like yī, so barely the rest of my final class,” she lied. School didn’t end for another three hours.

  “Wǒ will just drop nǐ off at home.”

  Melody smiled. Her scorched boyfriend was the last thing on her mind now that she had free time to burn.

  Lord Young went back to work after dropping his daughter off at home. Flick was not pleased to see that she had come home early as she took full control of the main room and he had to go hide with Perseus in their room. Koris had no time to notice the power play going on in his house due to the fact he had to deal with the svellik issue before the press linked him to the svellik who got Princeton burned.

  “Hāi, Niki,” he said when he entered the Oxen Security office. “Do you know where Ghoad is?”

  Nikhita looked at him solemnly.

  “She, along with some other svellik, are doing a prayer for the dead svellik and his mamé.”

  Koris raised his eyebrow in an unsympathetic manner.

  “Did you say ‘mammy’? Did tā māmā die as well?”

  Chief Kothari shook her head at his lack of knowledge about svellik culture.

  “And you plan on leading this planet despite the fact you know nothing about the svellik,” she muttered before explaining: “A mamé is like a guardian angel for svellik youth. It takes the form they want and tries to protect them until they are fully grown by giving advice. They are peaceful, but can become aggressive if necessary in order to protect their child.”

  “Wait, are they real?” Koris asked in a confused manner. “Like can we see them?”

  “Only if they want to be seen. And yes, they are very real, but they hide from us due to the fact we are not a true part of this planet.”

  “So how did Sweve’s mamé die then?”

  Nikhita shrugged.

  “From what I know, the mamé is linked to their svellik youth. In the past the mamé would adopt a new youth after its previous child was fully grown, but if the child in its care died then it would die as well. So I think the mamé died due Sweve being killed.”

  Koris nodded. He didn’t believe a word of it. Humans were aware of almost all the creatures on Manticore so it was unlikely that they had missed an entire species right under their nose. Nikhita, growing up a Hindu, was quite a spiritual person and was more open to things of a paranormal nature. Yes, Koris did believe humans had souls, but he didn’t believe a spirit could transcend a body and remain in the mortal realm – he certainly didn’t believe a spirit could act like an imaginary friend for a svellik child.

  “Could nǐ tell wǒ when Ghoad gets back or tell tā to get in contact with wǒ?” Koris asked in an emotionless tone.

  Nikhita nodded, but avoided eye contact – judgement radiated off her.

  Erik made the wise choice to remain quiet when Miss Kothari returned to the apartment. He sensed she was angry. The fact she had a sniper rifle slung over her shoulder certainly helped influence his decision to keep his lips sealed.

  Why does she have such a big gun? he thought, but would never ask.

  “I sense you are frustrated,” Proteus noted as he came out from the bedroom he shared with Erik. “Has the current plan been forced to alter again?”

  Nikhita glared at him with a look that said “we’re not talking about this in front of the downtowner.”

  “Everything’s fine,” she reassured him. “The Oxen candidate is just an unempathetic xenophobe.”

  She gestured for Proteus to follow her into the restricted room where they could talk in private. This greatly concerned Erik. Something was off about all of this.

  She randomly lets me live with her along with this Olympian and now she’s brought a gun home. She is not normal. Maybe she wants to kill me.

  A dramatic conclusion to jump to, but Erik, having grown up downtown, was always aware of threats to his life. He wished Nikhita was giving him shelter out of genuine kindness, yet he knew it was possible tha
t she intended to use him for sinister purposes.

  Remain calm, he told himself. If you are panicking over nothing then you don’t want to ruin this setup.

  The downtowner glanced at the door to Nikhita’s office where she was talking with Proteus. He then went to his bedroom. He wasn’t tired. It just didn’t feel right to lounge around the main room of a house that wasn’t his. Back at Lord Jordanis’ estate he and Mark would immediately go back to their room once the work was done. No downtowner servants had ever dwelled outside of their chambers for very long.

  I have a strong feeling the answers I want are in there. I’ll have to wait for the day that both she and Proteus are not around before I investigate.

  He flopped down on his mattress and stared at the blank ceiling.

  I’m probably paranoid about nothing.

  14

  The numbers were surprising from the pre final debate survey. Yes, Lord Jordanis was still in the lead according to the survey, yet there was only an eleven percent difference in their approval ratings. That was the best news Lord Young had received all month given the fact that the downtowners had not even had their say yet and they would probably vote for him. After all, the downtowners are who he targeted in his campaign.

  Koris really had to thank Lady Fae Sonata for the narrowing of the gap between his and Lysander’s approval ratings. Had she not dropped out of the race then he wouldn’t have any of her old supporters. He also had to be thankful that the svellik who had injured Princeton had not been linked back to the House of Oxen by the press so that was not another black mark on the pretty splotchy image of Koris.

  However, most importantly of all, he actually had to thank Lord Jordanis for this gradual closing between their approval ratings. Lysander had really taken a hit after his statement about Manticore being a “wretched planet” was leaked to the media. Anybody who had been on the fence about both candidates probably fell in the direction of Koris after they heard Lysander’s remark.

  Despite the survey being more successful than expected, Manticore Metropolis had forgotten about it and the city was already focussing on the next big event: the final debate happening that night. This was the last chance for the candidates to prove themselves worthy as the election was the very next night.

  Young was now a little more reluctant to bring up things he discussed with Proteus seeing as he was doing so better in the race. He didn’t want to lose his new supporters by going off on a tangent about how Olympians were basically slaves unless they were properly paid. Telling Manticorians they would have to pay their new servants was not going to make anyone happy – Manticorians were cheapskates.

  Bring it up lightly and discuss that it may be wise to first have a psyche investigation of Olympians to see if they truly consent to being treated like slaves. If not, we should pay them like downtowners. If I need extra ammunition in the debate, as Lord Jordanis will certainly object, then bring up the discussion I had with Proteus. I suppose I could also bring up the subtle hints of true emotion Perseus has displayed according to Flick. Flick reads too much into things, though. He wishes Perseus could feel emotion like humans do even if the Olympian doesn’t feel.

  Koris sighed as his makeup artist applied powder to his face – the last thing he wanted was to have an oily face on camera.

  “Do you think I should wear mascara?” Lord Jordanis asked from across the green room as his stylist gelled his hair back. “Yes, mascara is a feminine product… but it makes my green eyes pop out and most people like me for my appearance anyways.”

  The younger man shook his head. Lysander was clearly trying to come off as nonchalant before the final debate despite the fact it was the pinnacle of each their campaigns.

  “What every you want, Lysander.”

  “To wear mascara, or to not wear mascara,” he pondered aloud, “that is the question.”

  Shut the fuck up you lil’ Shakespearean son of a bitch. Koris bit his lip despite the fact Lysander clearly had not heard his internalised insult. Jesus, if people had the ability to read my mind they’d realise I swear like there’s no tomorrow.

  What was strange was that Lord Jordanis was making his usual annoying jokes as he tried to piss him off, yet something was different. There was something hollow about his words as if he wasn’t putting any effort into his attempts to annoy the younger man. He wasn’t enjoying himself, he was just pretending to. Koris realised that whatever had had such an impact on Lysander days ago was still affecting him now. Lysander was shutting himself down and becoming emotionless as a defence mechanism.

  “How’s your son doing?” Koris asked in an equally nonchalant manner. “Did the reconstruction go okay?”

  “He’s fine,” Lysander stated simply. “No visible scars. However, he has to remain at the hospital overnight just in case there are complications.”

  A long silence followed. The two men were not custom to making conversation with each other.

  “No matter how things go tonight,” Lysander began, “I think you should know you have been a… respectable opponent, Kor-Kor.”

  “Why do I sense that you think you’re going to win the debate and the election?”

  “I don’t think,” the older man replied with a laugh, “I know.”

  God, if you let me win for any reason, let it be so that I may rub it in Lord Jordanis’ face. The fuckwit needs to be brought down a notch.

  His tablet and phone buzzed simultaneously. The House of Oxen was feeding him any last remaining ammo needed for the debate about intended future policies and issues that the public wanted to be addressed. However, Koris was done trying to be the puppet for the House of Oxen and ignored the messages. He would bring up the Oxen plans he agreed with, but the debate was testing who he would be as the chairman and so his own voice had to seep through as well.

  Koris was actually surprised when he looked at Lysander directly. He was not wearing his sunglasses anymore, a habit he had developed recently, and he looked younger than before. It was possible that he had been wearing his sunglasses to cover the developing bags under his eyes until he could get anti-aging treatment. That seemed like a suitable explanation given how the older man was very into his appearance.

  “It’s at times like then that I wish we still had the twelve House system,” Jordanis stated while reading a message he received on his phone. His own House was also trying to cram last minute information into his brain. “You see, when there were twelve candidates all debating it was all so exciting.”

  The twelve Houses were long before the time of Koris. Lysander was bringing it up to remind the younger man that he was older and had been involved politics far longer.

  “You certainly wouldn’t be an Ox if the twelve House system still existed, that’s for sure” Lysander remarked.

  “And where exactly would you place w… me if we still had the twelve House system?” Koris asked in a passive aggressive manner. He really didn’t care, but knew Lysander was going to tell him anyways.

  “Dog. You would have been in the House of Dogs. They were… ambitious in their plans for Manticore, and yet they wouldn’t take no for an answer when others were rational and told them that their goals were unachievable. They promised so much, and that’s why everyone voted for them. When they delivered nothing the public got angry. They were elected during the time when downtown and uptown were beginning to be differentiated by economic class. The lower class citizens were hoping that the Dogs would close the gap between the classes. They did not, however, and their popularity spiralled downwards at an excessive rate. The classes were split in their final year of power due to pressure from the rest of parliament and now we have the uptown and downtown we know so well today. Do you understand the moral of my story, Koris?”

  “The moral: don’t be a bitch,” Koris mumbled.

  Lysander laughed in an insincere manner.

  “The moral: don’t promise what you can’t deliver.”

  “Asking for us to stop dehumanisin
g Olympians and downtowners is not a big ask. Asking for us to stop letting twelve year-old boys be castrated in the most brutal is not a big ask.”

  Lysander raised an eyebrow at the reference to Flick.

  “You have no clue how humans work. All you ask for requires Manticorians to pay more, and so you will be denied.”

  The older man put up his hand before Koris had time to object.

  “Save it for the debate. I’m sure this exact issue will come up again.”

  It did.

  “I’m sorry that the world is unfair to upper-class citizens,” Koris began sarcastically, “but sometimes we may have to give up a tiny bit of our own fortunes in order to help those who need it. I know, it’s cruel. Sometimes you might have to settle for normal beef instead of wagyu.”

  The debate moderator was about to make a comment before Lysander objected.

  “The public shouldn’t have to give money to those who won’t make good use of it. Going with your idea: let’s say we did start a children’s homeless shelter for downtowners… uptown, I doubt it would actually be used by any children in need and rather homicidal children or uptown teens who want a free meal. If I thought it was going to work, I’d endorse it, but I just don’t.”

  “Okay, let’s say there were a few children who did have homicidal tendencies in the shelter, and let’s say a few uptown teens did abuse what was offered there, do they really matter in comparison to the children that we could help? I don’t care if we got ten lowlife uptown teens for every downtowner child, helping that one kid would still make it worth it.”

  Lysander scoffed.

  “How very sentimental. Truly you are the prophet of the modern era.”

  “For the love of… Jordanis, I have no doubt that as we speak a downtowner child is being raped to death.”

  There was a surprised gasp from the audience. Koris would regret his words later, but when he was passionate about a cause he got caught up in the moment. Jordanis didn’t appear to have any objections to his statement. He knew it was very true. The only difference was that he did not seem to care – or did not think there was anything that could be done about it.

  “Now, imagine if we could save that kid and other kids,” Young continued. “Money shouldn’t matter when children’s lives are on the line.”

  “I understand this issue is very close to home for you,” Lysander began. “But what do you mean by ‘save’? Did you really save Flick or prolong his miserable life?”

  The moderator coughed awkwardly. He desperately wanted to change the topic, but that wasn’t an option by this point. Everything was too tense.

  “Miserable? What do you mean?” Koris growled, he knew this was getting to personal. “I gave him my blood in order to save him. I have tried to give Flick the best life possible. Yes, he has had a harder path compared to uptowners, but not a miserable one.”

  “Physically, you saved Flick. Well… you saved what you could, but mentally, like all downtowners, he’s beyond saving. You have tried to conform him to uptowner ways, and you have tried, to some extent, to make him happy, but at the end of the day he is still a depressed little downtowner. When he is ready, he will take his own life. So I must ask you again: have you saved him? Can you promise the children you want to build shelters for will be saved? We can blow money on trying to help these kids, or we can accept the fact that these children, by fate, are meant to die young and trying to prevent the inevitable is a waste of time and resources.”

  “I-I don’t even understand how you could say such things!” Young said in a completely appalled manner. “Are you truly heartless? Did you ever have a soul or have you always been this sick?”

  “There is a difference between heartless and honest,” Lysander replied coldly. “Downtowners are made to die young. Whether they die by slaughter, sickness, starvation or suicide, they will die. I don’t wish it was true, but it is.”

  “I’m loving a lecture on how downtowners are suicidal from the father of the most depressed uptowner boy I’ve ever met,” Koris muttered, and instantly regretted saying.

  Lord Jordanis froze. Koris knew he had gone too far by bringing Princeton into this. It made it personal. Yes, Lysander had brought up Flick, but Koris was meant to be above playing dirty and getting personal.

  Of Flick, Koris thought after the words escaped his mouth, if only you hadn’t let Lysander take advantage of you. I knew all he wanted was ammo against me.

  More importantly, none of this was fair on Flick or Princeton. Making both of their mental illnesses public knowledge was unforgiveable. Koris had no doubt there would be articles about each boy in the news within the next hour.

  Melody was going to be another problem. She was the one who had mentioned to him that Princeton was battling depression and had attempted suicide. He wasn’t supposed to dish out that information as he pleased. She had particularly asked him not to tell anyone else. He could only imagine her expression at that exact moment.

  My daughter is never going to forgive me.

  “I see,” Lysander said simply. “If my son, who comes from a wealthy uptowner background, is the pinnacle of youth depression, then perhaps we should be focusing on uptowner youth wellbeing instead of the downtowner kids.”

  “Perhaps we need to focus on both,” Koris objected in the calmest voice he could muster after his personal jab at Lysander. “These two issues don’t need to duel each other for importance. Both are issues that need to be dealt with.”

  “So instead of properly focussing on one, say, uptowner youth wellbeing, we should be half-heartedly trying to solve both problems? Both require funding. The big thing is that the downtowner project you have in mind will require more funding and the goal is unachievable, but if we really did put a lens on uptowner teen depression, then I think we could really bring down the teen suicide numbers.”

  He is only taking on this uptowner teen suicide issue to fight my own ambitions, Koris thought. He doesn’t believe a word of what he’s saying. He just wants the public approval.

  “We don’t have to half-heartedly do both. It is possible to properly deal with both problems,” he said after a brief pause. “This city has the potential and the resources. We just have to use them. Government funding could probably cover both causes and we wouldn’t even have to raise taxes, it would just require proper planning.”

  “And cut the budget of other government run programmes? Like that would work.”

  “Not of the necessary programmes… but docking the salaries of politicians could be an efficient start.”

  Lysander let out a surprise laugh. Even the moderator looked quite surprised.

  “Cut… our salaries?” the older man asked.

  “That’s ridiculous,” the moderator said more to himself than anybody else.

  “It really isn’t,” Koris muttered. Although he felt he was right, he probably should not have brought up this point until he had secured his position as chairman.

  “Lord Jordanis,” he began cautiously, “you have the largest estate, dozens of Olympians and a completely clean water supply. Heck, you own a large share of the spring water industry. Some of the poorer uptowner families still have to boil their water in order to drink it and can’t afford any servants. You, out of everyone here, could afford to have your pay lowered. Granted, it could be terrifying for you to be another step down towards the common people.”

  Now it was Lysander’s turn to be cut off before he could refute.

  “I believe this debate is getting a little too personal,” the moderator warned while eyeing both of them. “Perhaps we should change topic. A controversial issue right now would be…” he looked down at tablet to see the list of topics. “Oh! I know! Let’s talk about Olympians. Now, I know you two disagreed last time on that issue, so let’s see who can sway the public to their side this time around.”

  “This shall be fun,” Lysander chuckled.

  Koris had to be careful. Proteus had given him a great story to te
ll, but he could not directly reference the Olympian by name or Nikhita for their own safety.

  “I stand by what I said last time,” the older man continued, “just because Olympians look human doesn’t mean they are human. I know the human likeness has disoriented you, Young, but think of Olympians as a dog mixed with a computer. They have the obedience of a dog and the intelligence of a computer. Now, a dog plus a computer doesn’t make a human, does it? And you wouldn’t let a dog into the Servants Union and you certainly wouldn’t let a computer in either.”

  “No,” Koris agreed. “A dog and computer hybrid is not human nor in need of being part of the Union.”

  “Well then–”

  “But an Olympian isn’t a dog and computer. They are humans spliced with computers… Biomechatronic implants are in their brains. And just because their emotions and freewill have been suppressed doesn’t make them any less human. You gotta ask yourself something: if we magically removed the electronic implants from their brains, do you think they’d say they approve of slave labour?”

  “Removing the electronic implants from their brains would kill them. They could not survive without them, let alone retain the knowledge they currently possess. The implants are truly a part of who they are. They are organic robots. Cyborgs, if you will. Yes, a human wouldn’t approve of being treated like a slave, but Olympians do not think like a human.”

  “Olympians should not have been designed to have implants in the first place. It is sick that humans have designed humans who are purposefully mentally disabled. Removing their ability make their own choices or feel true emotions, I feel like that’s a breach of human rights. Then again, I suppose Manticorian society was founded on the defilement of basic human rights so this isn’t surprising we’re open to the concept of slavery.”

  “Don’t act your some heavenly saint who’s come to save our souls and redefine our morals,” Lysander growled, almost angrily. “There’s more than one ‘slave’ in your house. The first is Andromeda’s assistant and the second is the boy, who although you’ve raised, you will never call your ‘son’.

  “Yes, there’s the boy who has it implanted in his brain that he’s hideous because you can’t even look at his body as it disgusts you so much. The one you pile clothing on in a pathetic attempt to hide his natural form. Tell me, Young, about why you don’t pay the boy who you’ve destroyed the self-confidence of. Tell me why it’s okay for you to supress his body in layers of clothing, but it’s not okay to supress an Olympian mind. Tell us all why you think he’s stupid just because he’s not academic. Now, is it a breach of human rights to destroy an innocent boy’s self-confidence? Is it a breach of human rights to make sure he never feels like he can truly join your family and is instead just some peripheral part of the household?”

  You little fucker, Koris thought with a twitching frown. You don’t believe a word you just said. You just spouted out all that shit to antagonise me in the face of the audience. Flick, a slave? Try your own son. Now that boy’s an emotional wreck. You’ve certainly destroyed his self-confidence, you fucking hypocrite.

  Koris was about to say all this, but hesitated.

  He wants me to play into this. He wants me to flip the fuck out at him and insult him and his own parenting methods. I already look like the bad guy, yelling at him will only make me look like a defensive asshole and prove his case further.

  Remain calm and play it cool.

  Lord Young cleared his throat: “May I first state that Perseus is paid the exact same amount Lady Sun’s previous assistant was paid? As for Flick; he knows he is well-loved for exactly who he is and I have never called him dumb or ugly, I don’t need to prove anything to you on that front. Now, may we please get back to discussing Olympian rights? You’ve taken us off-track again.”

  Jordanis nodded. He looked… proud.

  Proud of what? Koris thought. Proud of me for taking you down a notch?

  No, he was wrong. It was the look of a spider that had just caught a fly in its web.

  “Now, Koris, what exactly do you pay Perseus with?”

  The younger man was confused.

  “I pay him in yuan, just like everyone else gets paid with.”

  Lysander shook his head out of pity.

  “There is a difference between justice and equality, you know.”

  He still didn’t follow, so the older man elaborated: “Equality is paying everyone with the same currency and that fits nicely with your communist way of thinking. However, an Olympian has no use for yuan and will never use it unless you request him to. It’s like paying a servant in Monopoly money. It has value in the circumstances of the board game, but otherwise they have no use for it and you’re getting unwarranted labour from them. Justice is paying the Olympians in a currency that is valuable for them.”

  “I see your point,” Koris said in a begrudging manner, “but do you pay your Olympians in a currency they consider valuable?”

  “I don’t pay them, period,” Lysander stated simply. “I was making an argument based on the hypothetical scenario in which Olympians are recognised as equal to humans. I don’t think the Olympians are humans nor equal to them. They’re organic machines designed for the purpose of serving us. I don’t pay my dogs, I don’t pay my security system, and I don’t pay my Olympians.”

  “It doesn’t matter if Olympians aren’t human; it’s not an excuse to treat them inhumanely. Sentient beings should not be treated like slaves.”

  “That’s the point of them. They’re robots, devoid of true emotion.”

  “That’s a lie. Their true feelings are suppressed by their programming. I’ve spoken to an earlier model Olympian. They don’t instinctively want to do free labour, and the one I spoke with could tell me this as his will and emotions weren’t fully suppressed like the new models are. The root of human in the Olympians may be stifled, but there is no denying it’s there. There were two previous models, neither wanted to be a slave and both were able to express this, so this ability was taken away by Olympus United entirely.”

  “Who is this prototype and where can I find him?” Lysander asked, unconvinced.

  “No. He requested I keep his identity and location secret for his own protection.”

  “Who’s after him?”

  “Olympus United. A free-speaking Olympian who’s against the slave labour his brothers are suffering through? He’s a threat to the company and a smear on their public image. Of course he has to stay hidden.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a legitimate source,” the moderator muttered.

  “Yes,” Jordanis agreed, “a mysterious prototype Olympian who nobody else has ever heard of or seen except you? I don’t buy it.”

  “If he didn’t exist how would I know about the original prototype. Prometheus: the one Olympus United terminated when he refused to do chores? He acted too human and was not submissive… so they killed him.”

  “Perhaps we should get a comment from Olympus United about Prometheus’ death,” Lysander said more to the moderator than to Koris. The moderator gestured to someone off of the stage who got on the phone instantly. “I’d like to hear from them how he died.”

  “They say liver failure, but the prototype I spoke with said that’s a lie to cover up their termination of an independent-thinking Olympian.”

  Lysander let out a surprise laugh.

  “Liver failure? Prometheus had liver failure? Now that’s either ironic or a terrible coincidence.”

  “It’s a lie. I’m sure they wrote it as a joke because they never thought Prometheus’ story would get out. Even if Prometheus’ liver is just a coincidence, the fact that he refused to do free labour would suggest the human side of Olympians doesn’t want to be obedient slaves, but that side has been more and more crushed over time.”

  The moderator looked down at his smartwatch when he received an update.

  “We’ve gotten a statement from the Olympus United PR manager.” He took a pause until the statement appeared on h
is watch screen. “It reads: ‘Olympus United has never terminated a fully developed Olympian nor received complaints from Olympians about their service purpose. The original prototype, Prometheus, was judged by the coroner to have died of liver failure and no foul play is suspected. He developed autoimmune hepatitis shortly after being born due to a defective immune system. This defect is non-existent in the current models.’”

  “I still find it hilarious that Prometheus died due to liver failure,” Lysander said with a chuckle.

  “I don’t buy it,” Koris said after thinking the statement over in his head. “What do they mean by ‘never terminated a fully developed Olympian’?”

  “Any Olympian that was already ‘born’, I suppose,” the older man stated.

  “So they may have killed Olympians who weren’t been fully developed?”

  “I think they mean more like abortion in this situation in which they have terminated Olympian foetuses rather than born ones.”

  “But what if they don’t and they’ve just skated around that question? Prometheus wouldn’t technically be considered a fully developed Olympian, would he? So they may have never killed a modern Olympian, but I wouldn’t rule him out.”

  “Your conspiracies amuse me,” the older man stated in a mocking manner. “However, I can see now that you’re not outright lying about your supposed prototype source. You had to get the information about Prometheus somewhere, but he still wasn’t killed and Olympus United also claims that no Olympian has ever complained about being a supposed slave.”

  “That’s because they can’t,” Young growled. He hated that he had to keep repeating himself. “I believe Olympus United should stop selling Olympians until there is an investigation into how they engineer the Olympians and if their natural right to have will power and form their own opinions has been taken from them. The prototype Olympian I have talked with has said this is the case and I trust him as an honest representative for his kind seeing as he’s the only one left who still has such human abilities. I also think there needs to be an investigation into Prometheus’ death. Autoimmune hepatitis is curable. I don’t understand why this billion-dollar company could not grow him a new liver.”

  “And what are you going to do if the Olympians are proven to be having their freewill suppressed and if Prometheus was killed?” the moderator asked.

  “Well, first off, Olympus United will be forced to shut down and the Manticorian scientists who developed these Olympians will have to stand trial for murder and multiple violations of human rights. And then I’d obviously get the Olympians protected under the Servants Union act.”

  “What use is the Servants Union to them?” Lysander asked. “Allowing them to get paid? Paying Olympians in yuan is a façade for slave labour.”

  “More or less this is all in a bigger plan to get Olympians recognised as disabled human beings and the Servants Union is the first step in protecting them against being abused, sexually or in other ways, by their masters. Baby steps towards the greater good, Jordanis, baby steps.”

  “I see,” Lord Jordanis said with a nod. “If only Jude Dimiourgo and the other executives of Olympus United were bound by Manticore’s laws so that you could punish them. But, alas, we can only punish the Manticorian members of Olympus United and the others will go scot-free.”

  “I can’t control the universe,” Koris admitted.

  “You can’t even control just Manticore. Let us see how all your reforms go and if they are successful or if they tear this fragile society to shreds. Will you equalise downtowners and uptowners? Will you liberate the Olympians? Unlikely.”

  Why is he speaking like I’ve already won?

  And then he looked down.

  Much to Koris’ own surprise the snakes slithering across the chart showed that his approval rating was higher than Lord Jordanis’. Not by much, but enough that Koris had a new surge of confidence. His desired outcome was to win the chairman position due to the downtowner vote, but if he already had the uptowner vote then he didn’t really need them. Yes, the approval rating from the debate was not an entirely reliable way to predict who would win the election, but it still meant he had far more support from the uptowners than he had expected.

  Maybe Manticorians aren’t as pro-slavery as I thought.

  “If I win tomorrow I will do my best to make sure everyone is happy. Everyone. The uptowners, downtowners, Olympians. I’m sure we can find a nice middle ground for all of them to be happy on within a decade.”

  “You missed one,” Lysander muttered.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Never mind,” he waved the question away. “They clearly don’t matter to you.”

  Who is he talking about?

  “Oh,” the moderator exclaimed when he looked at his watch. “We don’t have as much time as I thought we did so we better wrap this up.”

  Koris let out a small sigh of relief. Thank God that he got to end the debate on a high note with the better approval rating. The joy of that was enough to put the thought of how Mel was probably going to have a few words with him out of his mind. She would not be pleased that he gave into Lysander’s personal bicker and dissed her boyfriend.

  And he was right.

  His victorious attitude quickly deflated when he stepped inside his house. Mel had the stare that turned men to stone.

  “Nǐ piece of shit,” she snarled.

  Lord Young looked to his wife, but she shrugged in a way that said “well, you are a piece of shit.”

  Flick and then Olympian were nowhere in sight. He assumed Flick was so embarrassed about being mentioned on television that he had gone to hide in his room in hopes that the world would’ve forgotten about him by the time he stepped out again. Young knew he’d have to go talk to Flick, but Melody was priority.

  “Wǒ know nǐ shì mad,” he said while putting his hands up defensively, “and nǐ have every right to be. Howeve–”

  Melody cut him off before he could finish: “Prince broke up with wǒ because nǐ told the whole of Manticore about tā de depression even though nǐ weren’t even supposed to know about that! Wǒ told you about tā de depression in the strictest confidence!”

  “I know, and duìbùqǐ,” Koris said with a slow nod, but the energy from the debate was still running through his veins, “but it wasn’t exactly nín de information to confide in wǒ in the first place.”

  “Don’t try to pin this on wǒmen de nǚ'ér,” Andromeda muttered while shaking her head. She was calmer than Koris expected. She probably figured that Melody was angry enough for the two of them.

  “Nǐ shì wǒ de bàba! Wǒ supposed to be able to trust nǐ with information like that. But noooo, nǐ gotta tell the whole of Manticore! Wǒ bet nǐ huì keep the secrets of those retards,” she growled while gesturing in the direction of Flick and Perseus’ room, “but nǐ don’t give a shit about nǐ de nǚ'ér. Nǐ only care about little orphan kids nǐ get to choose!”

  “Hey, okay, uh, wow.”

  The words stumbled out of Koris’ mouth. He wasn’t exactly sure what to say. Melody was suddenly letting out years of built-up resentment and anger towards him and he wasn’t exactly sure how to deal with it. Talking about Princeton’s depression was the final piece in the giant puzzle that caused his daughter to finally lose it.

  “All wǒ can say is duìbùqǐ, Mel-Bell. We can have a proper talk about all this after tomorrow…” Mel, enraged that her father was putting her problems off for another time, stormed to her room. Andromeda gave Koris a disappointed look and followed her daughter. “… but I just need to get through the election,” Koris finished his sentence to an empty audience.

  I’ll deal with her later, he told himself. Make sure Flick is alright first.

  To his surprise, Flick wasn’t sobbing or anything of the sorts. He and Perseus were both lying on their beds staring at the starry sky on the ceiling.

  “Nín hǎo, Lord Young,” Perseus said while sitting up.

  “Melody okay?” Flick
asked. His high voice was slightly shaky, suggesting he had heard the whole conversation.

  “She will be,” Koris muttered. “Are you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you watch the debate tonight?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “And you know everything Lysander said was bullshit, right?”

  It took him a moment to reply: “Uh, yeah.”

  “Okay, goodnight, you two,” Koris muttered.

  “Goodnight, Lord Young,” Perseus chirped.

  “Nighty night,” Flick mumbled.

  Again, there were things that had to be resolved between Koris and Flick, but Young was not in the headspace for that right then. He made a vow to himself that he’d sort out his family once the election was over.

  He was heading for his bedroom, but upon hearing his daughter cry as Andromeda tried to comfort her, he decided he would be sleeping on the couch that night. Not a big deal. He didn’t have many hours before he had to be up again and prepare for the election day.

  “Melody didn’ta mean it,” Flick reassured the Olympian.

  Perseus gave him a confused look.

  “I’m sorry, Melody didn’t mean what?”

  “When she called us retards. I-I just don’ta want you to think she hates ya. She doesn’t hate us, she just doesn’t like that Koris gives attention to us ‘cause we’re not his real kiddie thingies.”

  Perseus had no answer so his default smile spread across his face. He lied back down and stared at the stars on the ceiling’s screen.

  “Perhaps if we learned the skyray migration patterns we would raise our chances of seeing one.”

  “Maybe,” Flick agreed.

  “Would you like me to research it?”

  “Maybe tomorrow. I’ma gonna go to sleep now, but tell me if ye see one when ya wake up,” he said while rolling over and facing his back to the Olympian.

  “Goodnight, Flick,” Perseus said happily before closing his eyes and instantly falling to sleep.

  “Night, Percy,” the boy mumbled back.

  He actually tried to fall asleep that night, but with little success as Melody’s words replayed in his head over and over again.

  They’d all be a lot happier if I didn’t exist.

  15

  “Orion?”

  The Olympian looked up as Princeton Bengal approached him. He was still wearing the T-shirt and sweatpants he had worn to bed which proved he had just woken up.

  “Have you seen my father?”

  “Yes, Master Bengal. Lord Jordanis is at the east entrance to the grand hall.

  The boy gave a nod and went on his way to find his father.

  Why is he near the grand hall? he thought.

  Usually his father’s activities would not interest Princeton, but the House of Dragons had rung the landline after Lysander had not answered any of his own devices. Apparently he was meant to meet with his campaign advisors an hour ago.

  The first thing Princeton noticed when he reached the east entrance was that the giant portrait of Lysander and Preston was no longer hanging up. It was lying on the ground. Lysander was on his knees on top of it. He looked like a drunken lunatic with his untucked dress shirt and unbrushed hair as he dragged the box cutter down the image of his face. As Princeton got closer he saw that Preston’s image had already been mutilated to the point where his face was unrecognisable.

  “The House of Dragons called,” Princeton said calmly as his father continued to deface his own portrait. “They say you’re late to a meeting.”

  “As if it matters,” the frazzled man said with a small sob. “Koris has won and I have nothing.”

  His son had no sympathy and rolled his eyes. He did, however, pull out two cigarettes and a lighter from his sweatpant pocket and offered one to Lysander, who accepted it with a shaky hand.

  “I understand what it is to crave death now,” Lysander muttered as Princeton knelt down and lit their cigarettes. “For in that sleep of death what dreams may come… but all nightmares are better than this reality.”

  “To be, or not to be,” Princeton remarked.

  “Exactly.”

  “Now, get the fuck over yourself.”

  Lysander coughed as he inhaled smoke accidently due to shock. He didn’t remember that those were the exact words he said to Princeton when he tried to kill himself for the first time, but Princeton certainly remembered. He was not about to have sympathy for a man who had treated his depression like a joke.

  “I get it,” Princeton continued, “Mark’s dead and it’s your fault. You made the conscious decision fire all those downtowners, knowing fully well that it would mean death. Now you live with that decision.”

  “I am,” the older man said with a sudden coldness.

  “Well, I’m glad the decision to let your boy toy go to his early grave looks bad in hindsight. Too late now, though.”

  “He was not a boy toy,” Lysander said, a hint of anger in his now calm tone. “He was so much more than that.”

  “You certainly didn’t treat him like anything more than a fuck toy.”

  “I know,” he said shakily. “And I’m dying everyday knowing that he never knew how much he meant to me.”

  I’ve had enough of this woe-is-me bullshit, Princeton thought as he stood up.

  “You once told me living and dying are the same thing and that it’s just about how you see the world. We’re all dying, dad, that’s how life is, but you have to pretend to be living for one more day. Put on your pretty face and accept your loss to Lord Young graciously. Then you can come home and continue dying, but without losing your public image.”

  Lysander slowly turned to look up at his son. His body had begun to absorb the drug as he smoked his cigarette, putting him back in his usual calm and smug mood. He let out a fake laugh and shook his head in disbelief.

  “I’ve raised a nihilist,” he smirked.

  “You’ve raised an asshole, that’s for sure,” Princeton said as he began to walk away. He had his own life to lead. “Oh, and get to your meeting.”

  Lysander ran his hand across his defaced portrait before his hand trailed down to the box cutter. He picked it up and pressed his thumb to the blade, drawing blood.

  It hurts, he noted. That means I’m living. Good.

  Erik was scared. He just sat on the couch as Nikhita and Proteus organised themselves. The Olympian, unlike usual, was dressed in a standard issue Olympian uniform with the name ‘Dolos’ stitched into it. This was all odd because Erik had only ever seen him wear normal clothes – why the sudden change today?

  He was not about to ask Proteus why. He had been intimidated by the Olympian since they had first met and only spoke to him when he absolutely had to. Erik was also too afraid to ask Nikhita. She’d been in and out of her office room since midnight and was currently taking what seemed to be a very serious call. Nobody had told Erik what was going on, but he assumed all this weirdness was due to the election.

  The Lord Young guy says I can vote this year, he thought while watching the election coverage. But I’d have to be downtown to vote. Not that it matters. He’s already won.

  “Right,” Nikhita said as she clapped her hands together, “I’m gonna get changed. Proteus, you go clean out the shuttle trunk.”

  The Olympian nodded and strode to the garage.

  Erik gave Nikhita a confused look as she passed by him. She just flashed a distracted smile and went into her room before closing the door.

  That’s when Erik realised that she had left the door to her office open.

  Every cell in his body screamed for him to get up and take a peek at what was in there. He tried to remain seated, but the desire was too strong. What was she keeping in there that was so secret?

  As he cautiously neared the open door he noticed a gun rack on the wall in his view. Not too crazy, she was a security officer, after all.

  No, the oddness came when the room was in full view. The wall opposite the door was filled with papers a
nd picture he didn’t understand.

  Why is that there? he thought as he looked at the picture KING CO. building. He remembered that building well seeing as he and Nikhita had had sex on top of it.

  There were pictures of other buildings as well that were covered in red marker. Most of them just had crosses or circles over what appeared to be random locations, but there was one set of pictures that drew his attention as being different from the others. They were pictures of what appeared to be a sort of courtyard sticking off of the Parliament House. Each pictured of the courtyard contained the word TARGET in big red letters placed near the very end of the courtyard.

  Buy why?

  Erik squeaked when a hand grabbed his shoulder firmly. Looking back, he was met with a pair of electric blue eyes. Electric blue eyes that looked angry.

  “Why are you in here?” Proteus asked aggressively.

  Without thinking, Erik screamed. The Olympian had a vibe that suggested he wanted to snap his little neck.

  “What’s the… oh,” Nikhita said as she appeared in the doorway half-dressed in her security uniform. “Forgot to close the door.”

  “He has seen confidential information,” Proteus stated coldly. “He is a threat to the mission.”

  Nikhita laughed and shook her head.

  “This doesn’t change the outcome at all. If you’re that worried that he’ll do something then you can inject him with mapo right now to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.”

  “I will do that,” he said before reaching towards the desk and sifting through one of the drawers.

  “I’ma yíhàn, err, sorry!” Erik quickly said. “I-I just wanted to know what was in this room thingy. I’ma not a baddy, wǒ promise.”

  “I know you’re not,” Nikhita said calmly. “And you should know now that I’ve very sorry that you have to get wrapped up in all of this. It’s a real shame because you’re a sweet guy.”

  “What are nǐ talkin’ abou–”

  Before Erik could finish his sentence he felt a stinging sensation in his arm. Looking down, he saw that Proteus was injecting him with something. He tried to pull away, but the Olympian didn’t even budge until the fluid was completely emptied into his vein. Almost instantly he felt a tingling sensation spreading through his body.

  “I’ma sorry!” he said again, assuming that this was his punishment for entering the forbidden room.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for, Erik, don’t worry,” Nikhita assured him, “but you’re people do,” she murmured to herself as she went away to finish getting changed.

  Erik began to panic when he realised his limbs were gradually becoming numb. He tried to squirm out of Proteus’ grip, but to no avail. The Olympian grabbed both his shoulders and held him in place.

  “The mapo will spread quicker the more you move,” he warned him.

  Too late for that advice. Eric’s legs trembled madly until they finally gave way. The Olympian caught him and scooped him up into his arms in one swift and elegant move.

  I’ve made a mistake, Erik realised. These people are insane and they’re going to kill me.

  “I am taking him to the shuttle,” Proteus informed Nikhita as he carefully turned so that Erik didn’t bump his head when they went through the archway.

  “Sounds good,” she called back in a muffled voice seeing as her door was closed.

  The downtowner couldn’t understand why she was acting so nonchalant. She didn’t care that he had entered her office and she certainly didn’t care that Proteus had injected him with something that was slowly taking away his mobility. He would have called her a psychopath at this point – had he known the word.

  Proteus gently laid Erik down in the trunk of the shuttle and adjusted him so that he was not lying awkwardly. The boy tried to move his furiously shaking arms, but failed and the Olympian replaced them.

  “W-why are ya doin’ this to wǒ?” Erik said in a shaky voice due to the combination of mapo and fear surging through him.

  “I’ve not been given permission to disclose that information,” Proteus said icily.

  The Olympian then proceeded to slam the trunk closed before the downtowner could say anymore. Even if Erik did scream it would not be a problem. Shuttles were basically soundproof and there would be nobody outside in daylight to hear him anyways.

  “We’re ready to go?” Nikhita asked as she stepped into the garage. A sniper rifle was slung over her back.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  Nikhita was about to send a message to Ghoad, but then she noticed that Koris had contacted her.

  Young: Now are we absolutely sure that no Rebellion is going to mess us up today?

  She had to laugh. Lord Young, along with the general public, would be utterly shocked if they learned that the Rebellion was headed up by two high-ranking members of the House of Oxen Security team. Yes, she knew for a fact that the so-called Rebellion would be messing things up today.

  Kothari: We’re monitoring downtown today and there have been no apparent threats recently.

  Young: Good, see you in a half hour.

  “Great,” she said before putting her phone back in her pocket. “Let’s get going.”

  “When are you going to turn on the cloaking?” Proteus asked.

  “When we near the end of the city. We might be noticed by general traffic managers if they spot a shuttle that’s not appearing on the traffic flow report.”

  That was the thing about cloaking. A shuttle couldn’t exactly turn invisible, but Nikhita could take it off the radar so that her shuttle couldn’t be tracked electronically. Only the police and security had such abilities due to the fact that chaos would break out in the air as autopilots couldn’t detect cloaked shuttles and that could lead to collision if nobody was paying attention.

  “Will it not be noticed if a shuttle suddenly disappears off the radar?” Proteus asked as they flew through the Manticore sky.

  “Nah, we’re gonna simulate a parked and turned off shuttle.”

  “How so?”

  “When we fly over the Dài mall’s garage I’ll turn on the cloaking. In the traffic report it’ll look like we parked in the mall’s garage.”

  “I see, that makes sense. The mall is close enough to the edge of town that the likelihood of being seen is minimal?”

  “Yeah.”

  The two flew in silence for most of the remaining trip. Having a casual conversation with an Olympian wasn’t possible nor was Nikhita in the mood for one. Today was far too important of a day for small talk.

  Just as she had said, Nikhita turned on the cloaking as soon as they flew over the Dài mall’s garage and soon afterwards they were over the city’s walls.

  Proteus looked back at the city of Manticore. It looked so displaced in the giant desert. He didn’t understand Nikhita’s desire to move to this planet in the first place, yet he doubted it was due to the scenery. No, something from her past chased her here and it was unlikely he would ever figure out what it was.

  “Now the only thing we have to worry about spotting us is miners and anyone at the Jordanis estate,” Nikhita explained.

  “Is it likely that either of these groups will see us?”

  “Jordanis and his son are at the parliament building by now so only his Olympians are at the estate, but they shouldn’t be a problem. Also, the miners don’t start until late afternoon, but they probably have the day off due to the election.”

  The shuttle circled around the estate Nikhita searched for shade. They couldn’t land in any of the garages for security surveillance reasons and also due to the fact they were probably all locked. She finally landed the shuttle on the opposite side of the estate to the Jhard.

  “Good luck,” she said as she opened the shuttle door.

  A surge of unbearable heat suddenly filled the cockpit. Nikhita felt incredibly uncomfortable, but Proteus did not seem bothered. Olympians were designed to withstand both the light and heat of the Jhard. That’s why const
ruction and miner companies pounced on the opportunity to order Olympians: they could work even during the day.

  Proteus watched the shuttle fly back to town before scaling rocky wall surrounding the estate. If Nikhita was right, then the facial recognition software in the surveillance cameras would not be alerted by his presence. His face was almost identical to every other Olympian’s – save being more masculine – so the facial recognition would identify him as one of Jordanis’ servants.

  Jumping down from the wall, Proteus looked directly into the lens of the nearest camera. No alarms went off. No automated turrets started firing at him.

  Miss Kothari was correct about the security system. Good.

  He walked at normal pace through the courtyard. If the surveillance footage was reviewed later he did not want to look suspicious.

  The only problem now was getting indoors. It was to be assumed that all the doors were locked so he had to do it the old-fashioned way and ring the doorbell. Yes, it was odd to ring the main doorbell during the day seeing as the Jhard would kill humans, but Proteus had already come up with an excuse when an Olympian opened the door.

  “Hello, brother,” he said in a peppy manner when the door was opened.

  The name stitched into the uniform of the Olympian who opened the door was Apollo, of whom looked slightly confused to find an Olympian outside even though all the doors were locked.

  “Lord Jordanis requested that I inspect the water fountain’s pump. It appears he forgot that I was outside when he left and locked down the estate,” he said while gesturing to the large fountain in the centre of the courtyard.”

  “Understood,” Apollo replied in an equally cheerful manner. He would’ve believed Proteus even if he had said he had sprouted wings and flown there. Olympians could not intentionally lie to each other – well, Olympians of the new model couldn’t.

  Proteus followed his brother to the servant quarters were three of them already resided as they had no chores at that moment.

  Apollo, Orion, Eos and Theseus, Proteus noted as he looked at all of the names stitched into their uniforms.

  They were all sitting still like mannequins in the servant lounge area until Proteus finally noticed what he was looking for: the servant kiosk.

  The other Olympians continued to stare blankly at the table in the middle of the square-shaped couch as Proteus went over to the kiosk. Not surprisingly, the thing looked virtually untouched. Olympians probably wouldn’t use if even if they needed to.

  It’s still set up for members of the Servants Union, he noted. Lysander had obviously not bothered to change it, but that would make it easier to file four complaints as the Servant Union had protections in place for situations like this.

  “Apollo, come here,” he said when he had finished filling out the first form. “Confirmation of your identity is needed.”

  “I do not understand why,” the Olympian admitted, but that did not stop him from pressing his thumb to the screen so it could be scanned. Olympians were all virtually the same except for the thumb on their right hand which was coded to be unique so that there was some way to distinguish between Olympians.

  “I am filing a sexual assault complaint for you,” Proteus replied simply. There was no need to lie.

  “What is a sexual assault complaint?”

  “It means Lord Jordanis sexually abused you and so the police will investigate him.”

  “He did not sexually abuse me.”

  “Lord Jordanis wants you to file this complaint,” Proteus said firmly.

  Apollo, although obviously still confused, asked no more questions and went to sit back down. The supposed Dolos said Lord Jordanis had given him orders and therefore he couldn’t refute.

  Proteus requested the other three Olympians confirm their identity the same as Apollo before he sat back down with the four of them.

  “People will come for you to ask questions,” Proteus explained to them. “Each of you must tell unique, but stories similar in premise and you must repeat the story every time you questioned about it.”

  The four Olympians exchanged looks of concern. Why would Lord Jordanis want them to do this? It was neither their place to ask nor their place to question what ‘Dolos’ was telling them.

  Proteus gave each of them a detailed story that they were to repeat to investigators. Each story involving Lysander touching them inappropriately, harassing them, and in the case of Orion: rape.

  “… You are not to inform anyone that Lysander has given these requests through me or any mention of my presence here,” Proteus warned them.

  “These are very odd requests,” Orion remarked in an anxious tone. He had no idea what rape was, but the way Proteus described it, he knew it was nothing good. “Perhaps Lord Jordanis is mentally ill.”

  “It is not in our place to question his orders,” Theseus said in the same anxious tone.

  And humans think we’re emotionless, Proteus as he looked at his worried brothers. Are fear and concern not feelings?

  The five of them sat in silence for the entire next hour, but that was not uncomfortable. Dead air was natural to all of them if nothing needed to be said.

  This is all for the best, was a thought that kept repeating in Proteus’ mind. Miss Kothari says that ruining Lord Jordanis’ public image will draw sympathy to Olympians. Humanise them. We need that. Humanising us can end forced labour. Lord Jordanis may suffer, but if his suffering benefits all Olympians then it is worth it.

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