“Eo was not a cruel girl, you know that,” she says, pushing back so she can look into my eyes. “She loved you with everything she had. And I loved her for it. But I always feared she’d make you fight her battles. And I always feared how much she loved to fight.”
That’s not quite the Eo I remember. But I don’t find fault with my mother’s words. I can’t. All eyes see their own way.
“But in the end, Mother, Eo was right about this. About Gold.”
“I’m your mother. I don’t care about what’s right. I care about you, child.”
“Someone has to fix all this,” I say. “Someone has to break the chains.”
“And that someone is you?”
Why is she doubting me? “Yes. It is. I’m not being foolish. I can lead us out of here. Out of slavery.”
“To where? To the surface?” She speaks of it familiarly, as if she’s known the truth of Mars for years not minutes. Perhaps she has. “Where we will do what? All we know is the mines. All we know is how to dig, how to harvest silk. If what you say is true and there are hundreds of millions of Reds on Mars, how will there be enough homes for us up there? How will there be enough work? Most won’t leave the mines, even if they know. You’ll see. They’ll just stay miners. And their children will be miners. And their children’s children, except the nobility will be lost. Do you think about these things?”
“Of course I do.”
“And do you have an answer?”
“No.”
“Men.” She rubs her right temple. “Your father was one to jump without looking.” Her expression tells me what she thinks of that. “Helldivers all think they provide for the clans. No. The women do.” She gestures around. “Everything you see, made by a woman. But you know how to shape the world, don’t you? Know how it should be.”
“No. I don’t,” I say. “I’m not the one with the answers.” Mustang is. Eo was. Mother is. “No one man or woman has all the answers. A thousand, a million bright minds will be needed to answer what you’ve asked me. That’s the point of this. What I can do, what I am good at is tearing down the men and women who would keep those minds shackled. That’s why I’m here. It’s why I exist.”
“You’ve changed,” she says.
“I know.” I pick dust from the floor and rub it between my palms. The dust looks strange on these hands. “Do you think … Is it possible to love two people?”
Before she can answer, feet pad down the stairs.
My mother turns to look.
“Grandma?” a small voice says sleepily. “Grandma, Dunlow isn’t in bed.”
A small child stands on the stairs, nightshirt scraping the floor. One of Kieran’s. She’s three, maybe four. Born just after I left. Her face is heart-shaped. Red hair thick and rusty as my wife’s. Mother looks back to me, worried how she will explain my presence. But I activated my ghostCloak soon as I heard the noise.
“Oh, he probably snuck out to cause trouble,” my mother says.
I squeeze her hand before sliding back from the room toward the door. My time here is at an end, yet I linger. The little girl gingerly steps down the stairs, one foot after another, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
“Who were you talking to?”
“I was praying, child.”
“Praying for what?”
“For the soul of a man who loves you very much.” Mother touches her nose with a finger.
“Papa?”
“No. Your uncle.”
“Uncle Darrow? But he’s dead.”
Mother picks the girl up in her arms. “The dead can always hear us, Eo. Why else do you think we sing? We want them to know that even though they are gone, we can still find joy.” Cradling my niece, she turns to look at me as she takes the first step up the stairs. “That’s all they’d want for us.”
50
The Deep
Mustang is gone. I’d hoped she would come in. But I suspect that was too much to ask. Of course it was. Idiot. I remember thinking this would humanize me in her eyes. Thought meeting my mother would make her weep and realize we’re all the same.
The guilt falls fast on me. I handed Mustang the holo of my carving, expecting … expecting what? For her to come inside? For her, the daughter of the ArchGovernor of Mars, to sit on my floor with my mother and me? I’m a coward for coming here. I’m a coward for letting the holo speak for me. I didn’t want to watch her process learning who I really am. I didn’t want to see the betrayal in her eyes. Four years of deception. Four years of lying to the girl who has never been able to trust anyone. Four years and I tell the truth when I’m not even in the bloodydamn room. I’m a coward.
She’s gone.
I check my datapad. The radiation tracker Sevro insisted on sticking her with before she came to see me in the Pot’s observation room says she is three hundred kilometers away and moving fast. Sevro’s ship pursues, awaiting my orders.
Ragnar and Sevro both hail me. I don’t answer their calls. They’ll want me to give the order to shoot her down. I won’t. I can’t. Neither understands.
Without Mustang, what is the point to all this?
I wander from the township, down and down into the old mine, trying to forget the present by finding the past. There, I stand alone listening to the call of the deepmines. Wind wails its way through the earth, mournful in its song. My eyes are closed to the black, heels planted in the loose soil, head looking down the maw of darkness that stretches deep into the bowels of my world. This is how we tested our bravery as youths. Standing, waiting, in the deep hollows our ancestors dug in the times before.
I turn my left arm to see the inside of the forearm where the datapad rests. Hesitating, I hail Mustang’s.
It chimes directly behind me.
I freeze. Then a scorcher battery pack whines as it activates, and warm yellow light blossoms behind me, illuminating a swath of the huge tunnel.
“Hands where I can see them.” Her voice is so cold I hardly recognize it till it echoes back to me from the tunnel walls. Slowly, I raise my hands. “Turn.”
I turn.
Her eyes glow against the lamplight like an owl’s. She’s ten meters away, higher than I, feet planted on the sloping, loose soil. In one hand, she holds a light. In the other, a scorcher. One that’s pointed at my head, finger against the trigger. Her knuckles are all white. Her face is an impassive mask, and behind it, two eyes filled with fathomless sadness.
Sevro was right.
“She’ll shoot you in the head, you bloodydamn idiot,” Sevro sneered at me in the shuttle. Sometimes I think he joined my little crusade so he could have an excuse to curse like a Red. Ragnar stayed silent.
“Then why’d you back me up with your father?” I asked him.
“Because that’s what we do.”
“She has to make her own choice.”
“And she’ll choose you over her race?”
“You did.”
“Oh, come off it. I’m not a bloody queen of the Golds, am I?” He held his hand high. “She’s been up here her whole life. Air is nice and sweet.” He lowered his hand. “I’ve been kickin shit since I was born tiny and buttfaced to my lard of a father. Your girl—there isn’t a chip on her shoulder. She may spout pretties when the world isn’t hard. But when facing the masses who would steal her palace, trample her gardens … it’ll be a different girl you see then.”
“You’re a Red,” she says now to me.
“I thought you left.”
“The tracker left.” She flexes her jaw. “Sevro was sneaky. Didn’t even notice him doing it. But you. You’d never tell me something like … this without an insurance policy. I ditched the clothes in the shuttle.”
“Why did you come back?”
“No. No,” she interrupts. “You answer my questions now, Darrow. Is that even your name?”
“My mother named me after her father.”