I think back to that day on Aries, my second attempt to convince the Plenum that Ophiuchus was real. Hysan got Tasered when he tried standing up for me, so he has no idea what happened while he was unconscious. I should have mentioned Neith’s malfunction to him.
Why didn’t I say something?
“I managed to get my hands on Neith for a day,” Aquarius goes on, and I know he’s now referring to the day Hysan was supposed to fly me to meet the Marad, when Twain replaced him as ’Nox’s pilot. “When I inspected the android, I realized the Psynergy around him was being artificially attracted to cover for the fact that he has no soul. His insides were designed to look human—only instead of blood, his heart pumps Abyssthe through his veins. It’s really quite clever.”
The day Hysan started helping me, his own life starting falling apart.
I’ve done nothing to aid him.
I’ve done nothing to deserve him.
“After all, androids are my specialty,” he adds, and I stare at him in wonder. “How else could I be multiple people at once?”
“You mean you had android versions of Morscerta and Crompton?”
“Naturally. Only unlike Neith, I don’t imbue them with artificial intelligence—I inhabit them myself through the Psy. It took me centuries of training and studying to perfect my technique, and unfortunately I haven’t found a way to permanently install my essence in a more sustainable vessel, but no matter. I won’t need to do that anymore now that my secret is out.”
What the Helios is happening here? I feel like I’ve entered some kind of alternate dimension. Why is my enemy being more honest with me than my own friends?
He nudges my plate closer to me, and I look down at my toast; I’ve taken exactly one bite. “Would you like to see your mom?”
“What do you want from her?” I ask, forcing the bread to my mouth, even though my stomach’s sealed itself off.
“Information she doesn’t possess,” he says dismissively, looking disappointedly at my plate.
I swallow, and the bite of bread slowly descends down my dry throat. “Did you hurt her?” I ask, my tone tight.
“That approach would have been a waste of time,” he says matter-of-factly. “You can’t break someone who has always been broken.”
I don’t like thinking of Mom that way, and suddenly I want to see her.
“Well, if you’re not going to eat, shall we get started?” he asks, linking his hands together on the cold table. “This has been a charming chat, but I would hope you have more important questions to ask me, and I’d like to get through most of my answers before your fifteen-hour window closes.”
I make a point of pushing the plate aside, scraping it across the stone, and I lean forward. “Really?” I ask dryly. “You’re actually going to answer my questions and tell me everything I want to know?”
He leans in, too. “Try me.”
“Okay,” I say, sitting back. “What’s your master plan?”
“Like your ancestors, I am going to travel through the portal in Helios to colonize a new galaxy, and I hope to save as many samples of the Zodiac’s species as possible when I go. Because Helios is dying.”
“Our sun isn’t dying!” I snap, straightening my spine. “You’re killing it.”
He sighs and says, “You’ve already come this far. Will you at least hear my side before condemning me?”
I’m not going to get anything I want by antagonizing him, so I force myself to nod. “Okay.”
He seems to think for a moment and then rises. “Let’s speak elsewhere.”
I follow him up the closest pink spiral staircase, and we cut through a series of passages to the north wing. The Mothership’s sand-and-seashell floors and walls remind me so much of Cancer that by the time we step out onto a higher deck of the ship, I could be convinced that I’m actually home—if not for the second sun in the sky.
The deck is secured with a crystal railing, and the space is small enough that there’s only room for a handful of benches. We’re so high up that we can see the curving tops of the giant shells on either side of the ship, and I realize we’ve been moving this whole time.
I lean against the crystal railing, and the wind blows strands of my hair in my eyes as we sail into the blue horizon. Aquarius joins me, and he’s so tall that he has to fold half his body down to lean on the banister.
“At the turn of the first millennium,” he says, his pink eyes gazing at Helios, “I began to notice a change in our solar system that was brought on by the presence of Dark Matter. Helios was losing her strength—the Dark Matter was sucking her energy, and her light was dimming. I alone noticed her weakening. I, who had watched her all this time. I hoped it was only my imagination, but then came the year when Helios’s Halo stopped taking place altogether.”
Despite my hatred for him and everything he stands for, I’m instantly sucked into his story. I flash back to when I asked Sirna why she thought that phenomenon had vanished from the sky, and she said, I think it’s because we don’t look up as often as we used to.
She was kind of right.
If we had looked up, maybe we would have seen the disappearance of Helios’s Halo as an omen—a sign of the deeper darkness that would one day steal all our light.
“I knew the cosmic conditions for the portal’s activation wouldn’t repeat themselves until this millennium, so I had to wait.” Aquarius straightens his spine and turns to face me, resting his hip against the crystal and crossing his arms over his chest. “In that time, I prepared. I remembered how the first humans described a fleet ten times the size of the one they came with, but the portal didn’t stay open long enough for all of them to get through. I knew there would be no way to save the entire Zodiac.”
“So why did you decide to blow Cancer, Virgo, and Gemini off the map first?” I ask tonelessly.
His shoulders sag, but he doesn’t defend himself. “The quantum fusion experiments Origene, Moira, and Caaseum were conducting had a Psynergetic component to them—something only the three of them knew about. The Houses had exhausted every attempt to study Dark Matter, but they were unable to learn much about it, other than the fact that it could suck the energy from a planet. But these three Guardians were convinced they could find more answers using Psynergy. What they didn’t realize is that they were disturbing the Dark Matter, and to keep it from reaching Helios and killing us all, I had to divert it. Alone I couldn’t move it, but with Ophiuchus I could.”
He furrows his brow. “Rho, I don’t expect you to see this from my perspective—that would be like asking the ocean tides to consider the moon’s point of view. But when it comes to protecting an entire population, sometimes sacrifices must be made.”
I tune into the singing surf of the sea because I don’t want to process his words. I don’t want to think of my beautiful blue planet as expendable. I don’t want to think of Dad as an acceptable loss.
And yet as my mind waits for my heart’s counterargument, it doesn’t offer one.
I can’t hear its beat.
“I have spent the better part of my immortality looking for a way around the Last Prophecy, but the Dark Matter we created will destroy us.” Aquarius’s voice is gentle, and again I don’t know how to reconcile his warmth and openness with everything I know about the master. “There is no possible way to save everyone. All I can offer is the chance to save some.”
“That’s why you started the Tomorrow Party.” I don’t know if I’m asking or telling him. “So the Marad members are expendable to you, but the Zodai of the Tomorrow Party are worth saving?”
He shakes his head. “I have a separate deal with the Marad. Believe me, everyone is getting what they want.”
Seeing the confusion on my face, he explains, “I’m doing what any scientist, or god, would do: I’m taking my best samples, my optimal representative group of the species, to bu
ild a new and better world. But that isn’t enough.”
My confusion only grows after his explanation. “What do you mean?”
“It’s taken me millennia, but I’ve finally understood how your species lost its way,” he says, and he walks over to one of the benches and sits down. “I understand why Ophiuchus’s presence was so important. Your lives are so brief that hope is often short-lived among people. You forget your history when it’s unpleasant, yet you obstinately cling to outdated values and belief systems, because the only thing you fear more than facing the darkness of your past is confronting a future that’s unknown.
“You need inspiration. People don’t need to be told what they’re capable of—they need to know it. They need proof they can touch: an example to emulate, a leader worth following, a person who speaks out even in the face of injustice, who stays honest even when tempted with power, who embodies the best of what an individual is capable of even when it seems everyone is at their worst.”
His pink eyes stare into mine, and I suddenly realize: “You’re talking about me?”
He nods, and this is so outrageous that I have to sit down at the other end of his bench.
“I foresaw you,” he goes on. “A seer who could actually detect Dark Matter and who would warn the worlds of their doom.”
Mom’s vision that someone in her bloodline would be the harbinger of the Zodiac’s demise, and Empress Moira’s declaration that she’d long been expecting me—if they both predicted my arrival, of course Aquarius did, too.
“I Saw that most would be too blinded by this seer’s light to see her for what she was, but the rare few who did would be the best of their species. Only those who believe in you are worthy of surviving—all who did not heed your warnings will be left behind.”
It’s the first time he truly seems like a parent, in the realest sense—a lion protecting his cub.
“You were my vision’s first ambassador, Rho.”
I have to let the salty air fill my lungs to keep from drowning in this newest revelation. Aquarius used me as bait—he dangled me out to the Zodiac to lure his chosen ones.
“But first I had to be sure you were worthy.”
I glare at him. After all my experiences with Guardians, I know exactly what that means. “You tested me.”
“Naturally. First thing I did was set Ophiuchus on your tail.”
My eyes widen in horror, but since calling Aquarius a sociopath won’t help me free Nishi, I clamp my mouth shut.
“And, as I’d hoped, you survived his numerous attempts on your life.”
“He stopped trying to kill me as soon as he realized I would make a better ally to escape you,” I say, desperately trying to wound him even a little.
But he only sits up straighter. “That was after he saw your strength, which proves my point.
“Next, I had to learn what part of you I needed to enlist. I had to discover whom you needed me to be so I could give you what you were missing. For this test, I had to hack away at your shell, removing the armor you hide behind and stripping you down to your essence. That required another kind of tool; not a blunt object but a fine blade.”
“Aryll,” I growl. “And what exactly did he teach you about me?”
“That your pity betrays you,” he says, like he’s analyzing a character from a book he’s reading. “You find infinite value in every man, every soul. You fail to grasp what my eternal existence allows me to know—that humans are a brief phase of biological evolution who exist but for a minute, in a galaxy that is but a drop of water in an ever-expanding ocean. And none of you can be saved.”
“That’s one hell of a pitch.”
“It’s not a pitch—I’m not selling you anything. I want to open your eyes so you can decide for yourself.”
I swallow, remembering when Hysan said something similar to me on Centaurion.
Aquarius leans in, his pink eyes glinting in the sunlight. “The prime directive of your organism is to die; death is the only thing life guarantees you. The truth is, the length of time a random individual lives matters little to the stars, or even to most members of your species. And yet, even an unknown, faceless person can imprint forever on your soul.”
In his eyes I see the small Cancrian girl’s pink spacesuit that’s been branded into my mind since Elara.
He knows everything.
All I’ve felt, all I’ve known, all I’ve wanted. I feel exposed. And I also feel trapped, like there are no moves I can make because I’m playing against an opponent who sees how the game will end before it’s even begun.
“It’s not your fault you’re like this,” he goes on. “The potential is there; you just haven’t had the right upbringing. And that is where I can help you. See, I’ve studied you closer than even you have. I’ve seen your mind’s corners, its curves, its contradictions . . . and beneath your Wandering Star luster, you are held up by an unshakable Cancrian core.”
He takes my hand in his, and though my Barer buzzes, my fingers feel limp, like my body’s tired of resisting.
“I can give you the thing you’ve always felt you were missing,” he whispers. “I can be your true parent, Rho. One who knows you, who puts you first, who never abandons you. I’ve been there for all of your most important moments, even if you didn’t know it. When you faced the Plenum. When you were disgraced. When you returned triumphant. I’ve watched you grow. I was so proud when I got to crown you Wandering Star.”
His warm eyes grow shiny, and I realize that even though he caused the tragedies that led to these moments, he still believes he means these words.
“Let me teach you what I know. Men are mortal, but I am a star, an everlasting part of this galaxy. Let me help you feed your flame so that for the blink of an eye you’re here, you can blaze brighter than Helios herself.”
23
“I STILL DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT you want from me.” My voice sounds so small, it feels like it’s coming from light-years away.
Aquarius’s sunset eyes stare steadfastly into mine. “When we go through that portal, I want you at the helm of the first ship. I want you to lead humanity into a united tomorrow—and I want to be the star that guides you.”
I shake my head in complete confusion. “But—you’ve been trying to kill me this whole time.”
“No, I’ve been providing you with opportunities to understand your own strength,” he says, like that’s a perfectly acceptable justification. “You were never in any danger, not if you were the person I believed you to be.”
“That’s quite a gamble to make.”
“Which came first, fate or free will?” he asks, smiling paternally. “That’s the universal question.”
This whole conversation makes as much sense as the nightmares in the Sumber, and I don’t know how to begin digesting anything he’s said, so I blurt, “But why did you put me through the worst moments of my life if you wanted me on your side?”
His expression grows pitying, which only irritates me further. “Heart, mind, and soul . . . that’s what you Cancrians test for the Guardianship, right? I already knew you had the soul of a star because you could See Dark Matter. I knew you had the mind of a leader because you succeeded in bringing the Houses closer together than they’ve been in millennia. But how do you test the heart of the most forgiving person in the Zodiac?”
“Do you always answer questions with riddles?”
His pink stare grows grave, and for a moment I worry I’ve pushed him too far.
“First you take everything from her,” he says, and I’m beyond certain my heart has stopped. “Then you dare her to forgive you.”
• • •
I’ve already been sitting by the healing pod a couple of hours when at last the countdown reaches zero and the lid opens.
I don’t know what time it is, but it’s late into the night. After my talk with
Aquarius, Blaze took me on a tour through the Mothership and introduced me to Party members, and I tried to take as many mental notes as I could—but I was still in too much of a daze from everything the master revealed.
Now that I know what he wants—my trust—I finally have leverage over him. All I have to do is make him think he’s earned it, and then he’ll confide in me the specific details of his plan. But I can’t reach out to Hysan until I know something that can actually help the Zodai defeat Aquarius; otherwise, I’ll risk the master discovering my duplicity before I’ve had a chance to be useful.
I grow instantly alert as Nishi sits upright, and I’m relieved to see that warmth has returned to her cinnamon skin.
When her eyes find mine, I spy a familiar shrewdness in their amber depths. “Something’s wrong.”
“Should I call a healer?” I ask, leaping to my feet.
“Why are you here, Rho?” She narrows her gaze, and her suspicious expression is further proof that the old Nishi is back.
And the old Nishi will be impossible to fool.
“I can’t talk in here,” I say softly, barely moving my lips, which is at least true. I have no idea if the Party has installed hidden surveillance—and since I’m playing both sides, that means trusting no one.
Nishi nods in understanding. “So, what’s next?” she asks tentatively.
“We get out of here and get you back with the others.”
She wrinkles her brow. “We. We have to get back to the others. Why didn’t they come with you?”
“Nish, I can’t talk,” I say, again dropping my voice to barely a whisper.
She blows out a hard breath, but at least she doesn’t press me. I guess truth is the most convincing lie.
“Wandering Star?”
I turn to see the healer from earlier poking her head through the privacy curtains. “May I see to our patient?”
“She’s fine,” I say.
“Your presence has been requested at dinner. Blaze said a change of clothes awaits you in your suite.”
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