โYouโre mad.โ
โThank you.โ Harmony smiles.
โI assume you misspoke; pray repeat yourself,โ Mickey says to Dancer. โAres will pay you more money than youโve ever seen if you can
successfully attach those to my young friend here.โ
โImpossible,โ Mickey declares. He looks over to me, measuring me for the first time. He is unimpressed despite my height. I donโt blame him. Once, I thought myself a handsome man of the clans. Strong. Muscular. Up here, I am pale and wiry, young and scarred. He spits onto the table. โImpossible.โ
Harmony shrugs. โItโs been done before.โ
โBy whom? I ask.โ He turns his head. โNo. You cannot bait me.โ โSomeone talented,โ Harmony taunts.
โImpossible.โย Mickey leans even farther forward; his thin face has not a single pore. โThereโs DNA matching him with the wings, cerebral extraction. Did you know they have subdermal markings in their skulls? Of course you didnโtโdatachips attached to their frontal cortexes to substantiate their caste? Then thereโs synapse linkage, molecular bonding, tracking devices, the Quality Control Board. And thereโs the trauma and the associative reasoning. Say we make his body perfect, thereโs still one problem: we cannot make him smarter. One cannot make a mouse a lion.โ
โHe can think like a lion,โ Dancer says plainly.
โOho! He can think like aย lion,โ Mickey snickers. โAnd Ares wants it done.โ Dancerโs voice is cold.
โAres. Ares. Ares. It doesnโt matter what Ares wants, you baboon. Never mind the science. His physical and mental dexterity is probably daft as a damn bowl cleanerโs. And his tangibles wonโt match. Heโs not their species! Heโs a Ruster!โ
โIโm a Helldiver of Lykos,โ I say.
Mickey raises his eyebrows. โOho! A Helldiver! Clear the halls! A Helldiver, you say!โ He mocks me, but he squints suddenly as if heโs seen me before. My whipping was televised. Many know my face. โBugger me blind,โ he mutters.
โYou recognize my face,โ I confirm.
He pulls up the viral video and watches it, looking back and forth between it and me. โArenโt you dead with that girlfriend of yours?โ
โWife,โ I snap.
Mickeyโs jaw muscles flicker under his skin as he ignores me. โYouโre making a savior,โ he accuses, looking over at Dancer. โDancer, you bastard. Youโre making a messiah for your gorydamn cause.โ
I never looked at it that way. My skin prickles uneasily. โYesโ is Dancerโs answer.
โIf I make him a Gold, what will you do with him?โ
โHe will apply to the Institute. He will be accepted. There, he will excel well enough to reach the ranks of the Peerless Scarred; as a Scarred, he can train to be a Praetor, a Legate, a Politico, a Quaestor. Anything. He will advance to a prime position, the primer the better. From there, he will be in a position to do as Ares requires for the Cause.โ โMother of God,โ Mickey murmurs. He stares at Harmony, then at Dancer. โYou want him to be a bona fide Peerless Scarred. Not a
Bronzie?โ
A Bronze is a faded Gold. Of the same class, but looked down on for inferior appearance, lineage, and capabilities. โNot a Bronze,โ Dancer confirms.
โOr a Pixie?โ
โWe donโt want him to go to nightclubs and eat caviar like the rest of those worthless Golds. We want him to command fleets.โ
โFleets. You lot are mad. Mad.โ Mickeyโs violet eyes settle on mine after a long moment. โMy boy, they are murdering you. You areย notย a
Gold. You cannot do what a Gold can do. They are killers, born to dominateย us;ย have you ever met one of the Aureate? Sure, they may look all pretty and peaceful now. But do you know what happened in the Conquering? They are monsters.โ
He shakes his head and laughs wickedly. โThe Institute is not a school, it is a culling ground where the Golds go to hack at one another till the strongest in mind and body is found. You. Will. Die.โ
Mickeyโs cube lies at the opposite end of the table. I walk over to it without saying a word. I donโt know how it works, but I know the puzzles of the earth.
โMy boy, what are you doing?โ Mickey sighs in pity. โThat is not a toy.โ
โHave you ever been in a mine?โ I ask him. โEver used your fingers to dig through a faultline at a twelve-degree angle while doing the math to accommodate eighty percent rotation power and fifty-five percent thrust so you donโt set off a gas-pocket reaction while sitting in your own piss and sweat and worrying about pitvipers that want to burrow into your gut to lay their eggs?โ
โThis is โฆโ
His voice fades as he sees how the clawDrill taught my fingers to move, how the grace with which my uncle taught me to dance is converted into my hands. I hum as I work. It takes a moment, maybe a minute or three. But I learn the puzzle and then solve it easily according to frequency. There seems another level to it, mathematical riddles. I donโt know the math, but I know the pattern. I solve it and four more puzzles, then it changes once more in my hands, becoming a circle. Mickeyโs eyes widen. I toss the device back to him. He stares at my hands while working his own twelve fingers.
โImpossible,โย he murmurs. โEvolution,โ Harmony replies.
Dancer smiles. โWe will need to discuss price.โ