The sub motored through a hatch marked South Pearl Entrance and docked. Huge, ornate bronze arms levered out of the floors to hold the rounded vehicle upright. As the water drained from the section, the pressure equalized, making my ears pop again.

  Kest was already on the dock waiting for us. Seawater dripped from her hair and clothes, and she shivered, still recovering from the water temp, but she bounced up on her toes like she could barely contain her excitement.

  I started to ask, “How—”

  “Amazing!” She grabbed my hand in an icy, wet cinnabar grip. “All these dormant instincts just suddenly kick in, and you know this is where you were always meant to be. Like the first time I patched a weld or found a gold tooth in the shut-ins. I just knew, Hake! I didn’t even need all that studying on the transport, I knew how to swim, I knew how to breathe. I knew all of it!”

  She stretched up and kissed me on the cheek.

  That surprised me. Neither of us was big on PDA, but apparently she was too giddy from her first swim to remember that we were in public. Or to notice Warcry standing right next to me with a uniformed CPA agent right next to him. Or the new arrivals flowing around us on all sides to get to a waiting line of uniformly black rickshaws.

  Then I realized that there were more of those paparazzi bots down here flying around. A couple big steampunk lenses had cut through the crowd to zero in on us.

  My face got hot. “Uh, Kest?”

  She hooked her hands around my bicep and started leading me toward the rickshaws.

  “I used to dream about this.” She leaned her head on my shoulder as we walked, the wetness from her bun on that side soaking through my still slightly damp suit jacket. “Finally coming home.” She sighed, which was the least Metal sound I’d ever heard her make. “It was even better than I imagined.”

  I started to say something else, but she gave my arm two short, hard squeezes to shut me up.

  Finally, it hit me. The cameras, the wide-eyed dreamy act—this was all for show. Part of her public relations campaign, like wearing the Crest of the Traitor around.

  Even though winning Selk’s election was Kest’s whole assignment, the realization that I was part of the image she wanted to project made my insides squirm. I was kind of glad I hadn’t told her about the ring yet. I didn’t want to know if she would have played that up, too.

  Warcry and Ravomet climbed into the rickshaw with us, and Kest directed the Selken pulling it to take us to the Pearl City Council Building.

  I introduced Kest to our CPA shadow as we swerved out into the street.

  “Iye Skal, huh? Excellent line. I’ve always said so. Behind my hand, anyway. Ha!” Rav tapped his chin. “One of my aunts or uncles or cousins served as a page to your great-greats back in the day. On my father’s side, I think. Or was it my mother’s? Either way, I’m tickled green to know you folks are back from exile. Can’t get a better monarch than an Iye Skal, and you can tell ’em I said so. If you win, that is. Ha!”

  My Winchester buzzed with a message from Kest.

  I don’t like him. Something about him leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

  I thought maybe she meant figuratively, until another message popped up from her.

  I knew it. He’s got Corruption Spirit. THAT’S why I taste rust.

  She sent me the link to Rav’s profile on Selk’s Spirit boards.

  Name: Vaya Tre Ravomet

  Spirit: Corruption

  Height: 5’8”

  Weight: 170 lbs

  Age: 82 Selken years (Current Location), 74.8 Universal years

  Spirit Reserve: 95,805

  Planetary Ranking: 300,430,502 / 314,439,556

  His low reserve and abysmal planetary ranking fired off a memory of Rali warning us not to get hung up on the numbers society assigned to kishotenketsu. On paper, this guy was bottom of the barrel, but Takeshi wanted him running the CPA hub here. That meant that off-paper, Agent Rav was a lot more dangerous than he looked.

  Like Death cultivator, Hungry Ghost croaked inside my head.

  Since I apparently couldn’t shut him up with Jealous as the Grave anymore, I ignored him and looked out at the street.

  Over the past six months, I’d been in four or five huge cities—more than I’d been in my whole life on Earth. But on Earth or in an alien universe, cities all tended to have the same feel to them. Grungy, grimy, and fast-paced.

  Pearl City was the exact opposite. Just like in the sub, there was no litter or dirt anywhere. Old-timey shops lined the streets, their names painted in bright, precise script across spotless window displays. Even though the lettering was obviously not English, something about the font reminded me of those pictures of the shops on a busy street in Victorian London. Fancy stonework arches decorated all the windows. Peaked roofs, conical towers, and gothic-looking molding was everywhere. The tallest buildings even had gargoyles glaring down, although for all I knew the ones in this universe were just statues of regular alien races, not mythical creatures.

  There was no pitting on the stone from pollution, and no smell of exhaust in the air. The only vehicles were Selken-pulled rickshaws, which moved at a jog at the fastest, and they were all spotless black. Every puller wore the same burgundy yukata and black pants combo.

  Traffic cops directed the intersections so no jams built up. Uniformed sanitation workers scoured every block, sweeping and power washing the sidewalks. Washers perched on scaffolds high overhead, squeegeeing the arched windows of the skyscrapers. Or domescrapers, I guess.

  No light from the surface reached these depths, but the dome around the city gave off a grayish-greenish glow, like the cloudy daytime sky our shuttle had passed through. Every now and then I heard a rumble of thunder over the rickshaw wheels.

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  It wasn’t until we stopped at the City Council Building and climbed out that I saw a speaker built into one of the old-fashioned streetlamps. It played the sound of raindrops and waves from the surface. Kind of nice, but also a little unnerving. It’s a lot easier to sneak up on somebody in the rain than the quiet. The hiss of falling drops hides rustling clothes and gritting shoes.

  That reminded me that I was ostensibly there to keep Warcry from getting assassinated by rival electoral candidates. I amped up Dead Reckoning and lagged behind to watch his back.

  Paparazzi bots were there, too, following candidates and their champions up the steps to register or catching them as they came out.

  “I hate to meet and run,” Rav said, grinning at his brilliant humor, “but I’ve got some important CPA business to attend to. Big things in the works, eh, Death cultivator?” Wink, wink. He bowed. “It was a great pleasure to meet you, Mr. Thompson, Miss Iye Skal.”

  At the sound of Kest’s name, a camera bot whipped around.

  “Iye Skal?” a tinny voice rattled out of its speaker. “Is that Iye Skal Irakest?”

  It was like sharks scenting blood in the water. Suddenly, they were all pointed Kest’s direction.

  “Iye Skal Irakest, the granddaughter of the traitors?”

  “The third-genner returned?”

  “Is she here for the electoral tournament?”

  A swarm of paparazzi bots surrounded us in a heartbeat. As if she couldn’t see them, Kest stood up straighter and started up the palatial steps toward the doors.

  Questions came flying at her from all directions.

  “Do you plan to take up the causes your family championed before they were banished? The Precious Metals and Gems Standard? Mer-Selken relations? Departure from the Coalition of Confederated Planets?”

  “Is it true that your nona, Iye Skal Terakest, became a ruthless dictator on the prison planet during her exile?”

  “Where do you stand on the issue of toxic surface dumping viciously destroying Selk’s wildlife?”

  “Any comments on the reports that your radical dissident brother removed his universal implant to hide his illicit activities?”

  Kest put on her serious face and answered with the speeches she’d practiced on the trip over with me and Warcry. Here and there, she threw in stuff that sounded like it addressed their questions but really just led back to what she wanted to say.

  “I’m here not as a candidate or a returning exile or the great-granddaughter of one of the greatest monarchs who ever ruled this beautiful planet. I’m first and foremost here as a loyal citizen, like every one of you. That’s why each and every Selken cause strikes me to the core. Elected or not, I will do everything in my power to work for my home, because that’s what every citizen of this great world is called upon to do.

  “Unlike the corrupt regime that banished her, my nona would have been a kind and beneficent ruler—she was a Peace Spirit. Unfortunately, Peace isn’t prized on Van Diemann, where she and Pop-pop were so egregiously imprisoned. The fact that she survived long enough to raise my mother and me while teaching us to remain untouched by the crime that plagued that hellscape proves that even Peace Spirits can have a backbone of steel when called upon.

  “My brother has never and would never engage in activities unbecoming of a Selken. Like any faithful citizen, I believe in the right of every law-abiding Selken, born here or otherwise, to decide for themselves whether they prefer to have a universal implant. You see, I was raised with the understanding that Selkens were a refined, upright people, who naturally perpetuated the mores and values that civilized the inner planets, and the Iye Skal line has proven that even in exile with three generations of…”

  While Kest talked to the press, Warcry and I kept the bot frenzy far enough back that she wouldn’t get tripped up on them. She made all this wrangling look easy. I wondered how Rali would have reacted to all this societally imposed ridiculousness. It would’ve been hilarious to hear him making fun of this.

  At the top of the steps, Kest gave the steampunk paparazzi one last smile and soundbite about being just a humble citizen doing her duty, then ducked past Warcry and I as we held the doors open for her.

  A couple cameras tried to sneak in after her, but a security guard stepped in and shoved them back out.

  “No press!” He slammed the door behind us and went back to his post.

  A check of the directory on the lobby wall gave us the floor and office number of Electoral Council Headquarters. We followed the signs and exiting candidates and champs through the halls and up the stairs.

  Apparently, Pearl City took the phrase “City Council Building” seriously. Every office we passed belonged to one council or other. Small to Medium Business Council, Tourism and Transient Council, Sanitation (A through M) Council, Better Homes and High-Rises Council…

  Finally, we came to a cloudy glass door marked “Electoral Council Headquarters.” You could just make out that there were people inside, but you couldn’t hear what they said or see any details. More security guards and signs flanked the door, making sure that the press knew they weren’t wanted here.

  The office door opened and a huge bipedal orca squeezed out into the hall. He was a meaty dude, tons of muscle under a layer of blubber, all stuffed into a tank top and biker shorts.

  The orca’s beady eyes darted from Kest to Warcry.

  “Competition.” His hands balled into fists. “Gleurah smash.”

  I got between my friends and the big bruiser, hitting all the major Ki-enhancements and covering my arms with Death Metal.

  A passing dragonfly did a sudden U-turn and hovered on the spot, pointed at me.

  If it even smells like you swung first, they’ll be waiting to pounce, Rav had said.

  I froze, Miasma and heart pumping, Dead Reckoning on high alert. I had to keep my head down, let the orca aggro first. But one threatening twitch, and it was on.

  “No, Gleurah.” A tiny Selken woman in a scarlet kimono drifted out from behind the orca, patting his enormous forearm. “We only smash our competition in the ring,” she drawled like some kind of refined Southern belle.

  Gleurah grunted, crossing his ham-hock arms.

  “You can put those nasty little Mortal shields away, sweetheart,” she told me. “You won’t be needing them. There’s no threat here.”

  Something in her voice instantly calmed my racing pulse and made me want to do what she said. Whatever it was, it set off Dead Reckoning. She must be using some kind of Spirit ability to command me.

  I fought the compulsion and looked at Kest, since I was supposed to be her hired muscle.

  Kest nodded. “It’s fine.”

  I stepped back and Reclaimed Death Metal.

  “Now that’s better, isn’t it?” Gracefully, the woman pressed her hands together and bowed to Kest. “Kyriin Po Birani, Kyriin Po Legacies Incorporated. But you’re probably more used to hearing me referred to as ‘the Scarlet Titan.’ The hyperweb loves their pet names.”

  “Iye Skal Irakest,” Kest said, returning the bow. “Independent artificer.”

  “Artificer? Well, aren’t you just cute as a button on a touchscreen.” The Scarlet Titan slipped her hand out of her flowing sleeve. Even her HUD was scarlet. She gave it a tap, and Kest’s SignalSong beeped. “My card. I hope we can become well acquainted during the tournament, Miss Iye Skal. And after. Legacies is always looking to hire another brilliant artificer.”

  The way she said it twisted the meaning into a jab at Kest. You’re nothing special. We have a whole staff just like you.

  Kest’s eye lace started to shift, but she stopped it before it betrayed anything and kept a big smile on her face.

  “That’s very gracious, Ms. Kyriin Po. I look forward to consulting for your firm after the tournament. If my schedule permits, of course.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m sure it will. Gleurah, this way.”

  The ladies bowed to each other again, and the Scarlet Titan and her champion headed for the stairs.

  Kest’s eyes narrowed as she watched the woman go.

  “Suddenly I don’t care if we win as long as we beat her,” she said in a low voice.

  Warcry snorted. “That Gleurah cove’s got nothing in his skull but more skull. I know the type. Scarlet put all her money on muscle, but muscle only gets you so far.”

  “Maybe,” I said, “but I bet a candidate with some kind of compulsion Spirit could more than make up for her bruiser’s lack of brainpower.”

  “Getting votes is Stumpy’s business.” Warcry shrugged. “In the ring, it’ll just be me and the orca. Win or lose. Live or die. Nothing else.”

  “Next candidate,” someone called from inside the office.

  “Come on,” Kest said. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Warcry and I followed her through the door, then almost ran into her when she slammed on the brakes.

  The Electoral Council was seated around the far side of a semicircular table. They all wore black haori over white kimonos and gray hakama.

  It took me a second to figure out what had stopped Kest in her tracks.

  At the center of the council sat an older version of Rali. Slightly chubby, with a fu manchu, and a gray streak in his shaggy hair.

  “Dad?” Kest squeaked.

  “It’s great to see you again, kiddo,” he said. “Where’s your brother?”