Traitor Born (Secondborn #2)(15)

Chapter 4

Phantom Star

It takes me a while to find my way back to my apartment from the glass lift. I get confused and lose my way. All the small conveniences of my moniker, such as navigation maps, become huge irritations the moment I no longer have access to them. I finally end up asking an Iono guard for help. He summons a mechanized domestic to lead me to my corridor. The tall, lanky android with its holographic humanoid face and features is foreign to me. We never used them at the Sword Palace. My mother never trusted them, calling them a “security liability.” She barely tolerated the maginots. I see her point. If the enemy were to infiltrate automated soldiers, an entire army could be turned in a single moment. If the automated soldiers themselves gained a greater awareness of “self,” the result could be the same.

My apartment’s corridor is cordoned off and crammed with Iono guards who have probably been here since just after I reported the attack. One of the guards behind the barrier lets me through when he recognizes my face. Hovering stingers are positioned on either side of the door of my apartment. As I near them, they don’t react to me.

My moniker is scanned, gaining me entry. Inside the apartment, a swarm of Exo guards investigates the crime scene. Among them is Firstborn Jenns. She’s on the balcony outside, staring out into the garden below. A couple of Census agents are also there, recording their findings using databases accessed through their monikers. They were probably called because the corpses didn’t have monikers. I stay as far away from them as possible without appearing to.

A team of Exos and drone cameras documents the scene. They’ve already removed the bodies. Now they’re pawing through everything in the apartment, but it doesn’t bother me. I don’t have any personal items here because I was taken from the Fate of Swords during the middle of the night and not allowed to pack. Everything I have has been provided by The Virtue.

I lean against a wall near the entrance to the drawing room and watch the activity. An hour later, the investigation winds down. Exos and Census agents trickle out until only Firstborn Jenns and a few of her people remain. She comes in from the balcony and secures the door. “The assailants’ DNA profiles aren’t in any of our databases. It’s as if they don’t exist. Census was called, and they’ll be handling that aspect of the investigation. Expect questions from them.”

Dread over speaking to a Census agent makes my stomach clench. “Who do you expect is involved?”

“All signs point to Gates of Dawn.” I know she’s wrong, but I refrain from saying as much because I have no evidence to the contrary. “We’ll post stingers in the corridor and by your balcony for now. Extra Iono patrols will remain in the garden, but don’t expect that to last. Grisholm doesn’t like a large security presence. He cherishes his privacy.”

“I’ll be fine,” I reply. “Thank you for your help, Firstborn Jenns.”

“Call me Vaughna. If you need me, contact me on my moniker.”

“I can’t. Mine has been restricted.”

She points at Phoenix. “Then send that little guy to find me.”

I don’t bother to tell her that it would take Phoenix a long time just to walk down the corridor. I simply nod. Firstborn Jenns and the rest of the investigators collect their equipment in hovering transporters and exit the apartment. A small army of mechadomes cleans up the blood from the fallen assassins. Phoenix’s iron exterior is scrubbed and buffed by a particularly advanced domestic robot. When they’re finally finished, my apartment is even cleaner than it was the day I arrived. The last mechadome out closes my apartment door.

Alone, I deflate a little. It’s past dawn. The sun is bright. Phoenix toddles over from the drawing room toward me. I squat down and run my hand over its head. “You look better, Phee,” I whisper, my voice a little shaky. Its rudimentary mouth curves up.

I find my fusionblade where I left it upstairs in the bedroom. My own investigation of the lower floor doesn’t uncover any monitoring devices left behind. On the balcony outside my apartment, the two hovering stingers guard the entrance. I use privacy mode to turn all the windows and glass doors opaque.

Hunger drives me to the kitchen. I order a meal via the commissary unit located on the wall. When it arrives on a golden salver, I find that I’m afraid to taste it, worried that it’s poisoned. Tears well up in my eyes. Phoenix lumbers in, the top of its head barely reaching the surface of the table. Lifting its vacuum arm, it delicately sucks in a few bits of pasta from the side of my plate. Humming and churning noises ensue. Words written in red laser appear in the lenses of its eyes, detailing a list of ingredients. I study it for a second, not understanding. Then I realize that Phoenix has analyzed my meal on a molecular level. Nothing about the list appears lethal. Its eyes return to glowing red.

“You’re sure this is okay to eat?” I ask in a soft tone.

Its lenses move up and down in a nod-like gesture. I lift my fork, taking a small bite, and then a much larger one when I don’t notice anything unusual about the flavor. Shoveling the food into my mouth, I finish the entire portion in a few more bites, hardly tasting it at all. We repeat the process for several more dishes and beverages, until I have a small food baby in my belly and eater’s remorse.

“Are you Phee?” I ask, setting my fork aside. The burly mechadome’s eyes move side to side. “Are you—” Using its right hand, the one that’s like a claw, it lifts my hand and points to the small star on my palm. Reykin. I stiffen. “I’m going to bed,” I murmur. “You should do the same.”