best counter
Search
Report & Feedback

Chapter no 11 – Mad

Red Rising

โ€œYouโ€™re mad.โ€

โ€œThank you.โ€ Harmony smiles.

โ€œI assume you misspoke; pray repeat yourself,โ€ Mickey says to Dancer. โ€œAres will pay you more money than youโ€™ve ever seen if you can

successfully attach those to my young friend here.โ€

โ€œImpossible,โ€ Mickey declares. He looks over to me, measuring me for the first time. He is unimpressed despite my height. I donโ€™t 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. โ€œImpossible.โ€

Harmony shrugs. โ€œItโ€™s been done before.โ€

โ€œBy whom? I ask.โ€ He turns his head. โ€œNo. You cannot bait me.โ€ โ€œSomeone talented,โ€ Harmony taunts.

โ€œImpossible.โ€ย Mickey leans even farther forward; his thin face has not a single pore. โ€œThereโ€™s DNA matching him with the wings, cerebral extraction. Did you know they have subdermal markings in their skulls? Of course you didnโ€™tโ€”datachips attached to their frontal cortexes to substantiate their caste? Then thereโ€™s synapse linkage, molecular bonding, tracking devices, the Quality Control Board. And thereโ€™s the trauma and the associative reasoning. Say we make his body perfect, thereโ€™s still one problem: we cannot make him smarter. One cannot make a mouse a lion.โ€

โ€œHe can think like a lion,โ€ Dancer says plainly.

โ€œOho! He can think like aย lion,โ€ Mickey snickers. โ€œAnd Ares wants it done.โ€ Dancerโ€™s voice is cold.

โ€œAres. Ares. Ares. It doesnโ€™t matter what Ares wants, you baboon. Never mind the science. His physical and mental dexterity is probably daft as a damn bowl cleanerโ€™s. And his tangibles wonโ€™t match. Heโ€™s not their species! Heโ€™s a Ruster!โ€

โ€œIโ€™m a Helldiver of Lykos,โ€ I say.

Mickey raises his eyebrows. โ€œOho! A Helldiver! Clear the halls! A Helldiver, you say!โ€ He mocks me, but he squints suddenly as if heโ€™s seen me before. My whipping was televised. Many know my face. โ€œBugger me blind,โ€ he mutters.

โ€œYou recognize my face,โ€ I confirm.

He pulls up the viral video and watches it, looking back and forth between it and me. โ€œArenโ€™t you dead with that girlfriend of yours?โ€

โ€œWife,โ€ I snap.

Mickeyโ€™s jaw muscles flicker under his skin as he ignores me. โ€œYouโ€™re making a savior,โ€ he accuses, looking over at Dancer. โ€œDancer, you bastard. Youโ€™re making a messiah for your gorydamn cause.โ€

I never looked at it that way. My skin prickles uneasily. โ€œYesโ€ is Dancerโ€™s answer.

โ€œIf I make him a Gold, what will you do with him?โ€

โ€œHe 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€ โ€œMother of God,โ€ Mickey murmurs. He stares at Harmony, then at Dancer. โ€œYou 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. โ€œNot a Bronze,โ€ Dancer confirms.

โ€œOr a Pixie?โ€

โ€œWe donโ€™t want him to go to nightclubs and eat caviar like the rest of those worthless Golds. We want him to command fleets.โ€

โ€œFleets. You lot are mad. Mad.โ€ Mickeyโ€™s violet eyes settle on mine after a long moment. โ€œMy 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. โ€œThe 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€

Mickeyโ€™s cube lies at the opposite end of the table. I walk over to it without saying a word. I donโ€™t know how it works, but I know the puzzles of the earth.

โ€œMy boy, what are you doing?โ€ Mickey sighs in pity. โ€œThat is not a toy.โ€

โ€œHave you ever been in a mine?โ€ I ask him. โ€œEver 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 donโ€™t 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€

โ€œThis is โ€ฆโ€

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 donโ€™t 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. Mickeyโ€™s eyes widen. I toss the device back to him. He stares at my hands while working his own twelve fingers.

โ€œImpossible,โ€ย he murmurs. โ€œEvolution,โ€ Harmony replies.

Dancer smiles. โ€œWe will need to discuss price.โ€

You'll Also Like