Carina woke up at 0500, which, in retrospect, shouldn’t have been a surprise. She never slept well when she was stressed.

Far up above her, the artificial sunrise cast a strangely vibrant orange glow. It bounced off the glistening glass starscrapers and filtered down into the Underground, sparkling so brightly it almost lit the city on fire. Clouds of smog floated up from the darkness underneath, stinging her nostrils, and the acrid smell filled the room, even though no doors or windows were open. Sometimes things were just like that—the poison became completely inescapable.

Because she had an hour before she was actually supposed to wake up, Carina took the time to fix herself breakfast. Aleskynn had given her real fruit, once, and since then, she hadn’t been able to stop craving it. Everything tasted awful compared to actual, genuine strawberries topped with whipped cream from living cows. Athena had made fun of her for that, saying that she’d grown too big for her boots, and that was probably fair—whoever heard of an average, run-of-the-mill Scientia forcing her way into the upper echelons of society? Carina didn’t have to be a genius to realize that she didn’t belong in Aleskynn’s world.

Still, she allowed herself the occasional luxury of organic food. It was only human nature to want something other than nutrient paste and sustenance bars (not that Carina knew anything about human nature, or humans in general; she was an astrophysicist, and those things were beyond what she was supposed to understand.)

***

The morning passed by slowly, the air thick and the atmosphere heavy. Carina tried to focus, she really did, but it didn’t take long for people to start talking, and then doing any sort of work was impossible. She’d always been a good, dutiful student—it wasn’t hard, usually, to pay attention, and she was decent with numbers—but focusing on experiments that had been done a thousand times before felt so useless when the world had so many real problems. Her mother would be angry at her later—all the instructors would—but she couldn’t get the thought of Acidalia Cipher out of her head. She’d just witnessed an attempted assassination, and nobody even really seemed to care.

The news played in the background, an endless cycle of bland, blonde reporters droning on about issues that didn’t matter. Hairstyles, dresses, celebrities—everything and anything that wasn’t related to the Cipher family. They even had a meteorologist come on to say the weather, as if the weather would be any different from yesterday and the day before that and how it had been for the past five hundred years.

“Slow news day, huh?” Athena said after the twelfth discussion about the gemstones on Acidalia’s dress. Were they rubies or sapphires? Carina still didn’t know, but based on how the reporters had debated it for the past half hour, it had to be an exceedingly important issue.

“I don’t see why it should be,” Carina admitted. She hadn’t been told specifically not to speak about the assassination attempt, but it was always unwise to discuss such things out loud.

Athena glared up at the television screen. “They don’t want us to know the details.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

“It’s true.” Athena sipped her coffee casually. They weren’t supposed to have coffee in the lab, not that she cared.

“It’s not smart to talk about this type of thing.”

“It’s not smart for a random Scientia to go to a place crawling with aristocrats, and yet you did,” Athena shrugged. “I keep telling you that those people are bad news. Besides, even if they weren’t all psychos, Aleskynn is a straight up bitch.”

Carina turned white. The pencil she was holding cracked slightly under the pressure of her hands, splintering into two pieces. “Don’t.”

“You know I’m right. She treats you like crap, and you let her just because you’re scared of what she’ll do to you if you tell her no.”

“Everyone should be scared. She’s a Cipher.”

“So was Harmonia, and she’s still dead.”

A hush fell over the lab. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to Athena, who shrugged as callously as if she’d just said the results of last night’s football game or something equally as trivial. Then, abruptly, people seemed to realize that stopping and staring, or acknowledging Athena’s words at all, was liable to get them in just as much trouble as her, and they all turned away again.

“Don’t talk about Harmonia Cipher,” Carina whispered. “You’ll get us all killed, or worse.”

“‘Or worse.’ You’re so dramatic.” Athena rolled her eyes. “They can’t possibly monitor a planet of twenty billion people, Ree. If there are cameras here, why would anyone be watching them? Do you really think Alestra pays someone to keep an eye on a bunch of random Scientias?”

“I’m not just a ‘random Scientia’ anymore, and you know that.” It felt like a cocky thing to say, but it was true. If Alestra thought Carina was any threat to her or her daughter, she’d absolutely have surveillance on her at all times, caste notwithstanding. And she didn’t like Scientias, or the middle class, very much—everyone knew that. The Ciphers were royalty and Carina was a mediocre astrophysics student, and that alone was enough to make half the court angry. And, yes, it was a complete waste of time to monitor her, but Athena didn’t understand just how wealthy these people were. They had spare time, years and years worth of it, and Carina wouldn’t put it past them to get so bored with their meaningless lives that they reduced themselves to petty spies. Aleskynn had done stranger things before.

“I still think you’re paranoid,” Athena countered, continuing to sip her coffee even though she was already jittery from caf pills. “You’re way too worried about how they perceive you. Why are you so concerned about the opinions of people you hate?”

“I don’t hate them!” she said quickly, keeping her voice quiet. “You don’t get it. If they got angry at me, or if they found out I was talking to you, or even if they just felt like destroying someone’s life, they could ruin everything for me. They could kill me, and nobody would ask questions.”

“They’re not going to kill you. Alestra only likes to slaughter other rich girls. She’s too good to kill a Scientia.”

“Yes, but her men aren’t above that. Do you have any idea how many people are under her command? None of them would hesitate if they thought I was a threat to them. Don’t laugh,” she added, seeing the corners of Athena’s mouth turn up. “I don’t mean a physical threat. I mean an ideological one. If Alestra thinks I’m teaching Aleskynn dangerous ideas or something, she’d have me—and you—dead on the spot.”

“And you call me a tinfoil hatter.”

“Well, that’s because all the stuff you believe in is completely insane! Lizard people and mermaid aliens and all that nonsense about Celestia Cipher—“

“It’s all true.”

“It is not, and even if it was, you’re putting yourself—and all of us—in danger.”

“Listen, if you want to believe Alestra is so interested in you that she’s spending money and time on surveilling you 24/7, all the power to you,” Athena said. “I admire your confidence, actually. But I really, really doubt that she keeps tabs on every one of her gazillion subjects. And even if she does, I don’t think a five-foot-nothing Scientia could possibly do anything important enough to gain her attention.”

Carina frowned. She wanted to believe Athena was right, but that would take a degree of carelessness and apathy she didn’t have. Even if it was illogical, she simply couldn’t accept that those bright blue Cipher eyes weren’t watching her. It was a consequence of being in the same room as Alestra; once someone made eye contact with her, it simply became impossible to escape from her gaze. Her face was beautifully, terrifyingly inhuman—she fell so deeply into the Uncanny Valley that it almost felt wrong to consider her human at all. If she hadn’t known better, Carina could easily see herself envisioning Alestra as an angel or a god. She was the living embodiment of horrifying, omniscient divinity, and she knew just how to use her reputation.

Carina wondered sometimes if Acidalia could ever hope to live up to that. The dauphine was elegant and well-spoken, but nothing could ever compared to Alestra. She was simply indescribable. The sheer fear and anxiety she inspired was something Acidalia could never hope to replicate. Her power, her presence, and her incredible eyes overshadowed anything any of her descendants could ever hope to achieve. Carina almost felt bad for Acidalia—there was no way a full-blooded Cipher could hope to supersede Alestra, let alone a barely-legitimate Martian.

“You’ve gone all quiet,” Athena said. Carina jumped.

“Just thinking.”

“You’re too paranoid.”

“I am not.”

“You so are—“

“Can we stop talking about this?” Carina interjected. “We have work to do! I have reports to finish, and you should really be analyzing the results from last week’s spectroscopy experiment, and—“

Before she could finish her sentence, the PA crackled from above. “What do you want?” Athena shouted.

The line was silent for a moment, and Carina could hear the Ministratora at the other end breathing shakily. “There are some people here to see a Carina-Nebula Julia Maxima,” she said finally. “I’m assuming that means our Carina?”

“Naturally,” Athena snarked. “How many other Carinas regularly hang out with Principissa Aleskynn Cipher?”

“That’s what I assumed. But, um—that’s not all of it. Athena…”

“Yeah?”

“Watch what you say.”

Athena went ghost-white and dropped her coffee, which splattered all over the floor in a sickening gush. “What? How—"

There was no answer from the PA.

***

The white hallways felt smaller, more constricting, as Carina made her way towards the front desk. Suddenly it felt like the walls were moving in closer, and the stark white simplicity that had once been almost comforting became dangerous and alien. She felt like she was headed towards death row—the icy, ascetic, scientific atmosphere combined with the ever-present fear and awe of Alestra Cipher made the idea of being greeting with a lethal injection at the end of the corridor seem entirely likely.

That was ridiculous, of course; Carina herself hadn’t actually said anything wrong. It wasn’t like she was openly threatening Alestra’s regime. She had no reason to dislike the Imperatrix or either of her daughters, and she wasn’t nearly strong or charismatic enough to become any kind of rebel leader (or any leader at all, in fact.) Besides, why would she want to? Aleskynn Cipher was her friend, her ally. And, yes, it was true that the government didn’t really need a reason for killing dissenters, but if Carina just vanished, people would talk. She simply wasn’t the kind of person one would expect to be involved in illegal activity. If they arrested her or had her shot, speculation and rumors would start to spread, and they’d have to kill the whole lab to keep things quiet.

Athena, on the other hand…

It didn’t take much to get oneself in trouble when it came to matters regarding the royal family, and Athena had most definitely committed treason. The fact that she even mentioned Harmonia Cipher’s name was enough to get her five years in prison at the very least, and that was completely disregarding the fact that she’d called Aleskynn a bitch. Even ignoring all of that, though, she’d openly speculated about what the government wanted her to know, which made her as good as dead in Alestra’s eyes. If she so desired, Alestra could come down here and murder Athena herself, and nobody would even question it. In fact, they’d probably worship her for it. It’d make an excellent propaganda poster.

Carina breathed out slowly and tried to calm the beating of her heart. In all likelihood, Athena would probably be okay for now; technically she’d committed a capital crime, but on Eleutheria, treason was almost like piracy. Illegal, yes, but commonplace, and unless she was a repeat offender, the Magistratum would probably let it slide. They had much better things to do than track down every woman who insulted their glorious leader.

But if anyone was likely to be a repeat offender, it was Athena.

Carina bit her lip. If Athena had any sense, she’d know to keep her mouth shut for the next few days. She wasn’t that dumb. Besides, she knew the stakes. Even if she never outright threatened Alestra’s regime, she interacted with people who completely opposed the royal family’s rule on a regular basis, and she knew enough to understand that getting arrested would mean selling out all of her friends. And Athena was loyal to a fault—she’d never get any of her allies in trouble if she could help it.

Why do I even care so much? Carina wondered suddenly. It wasn’t like she and Athena were the best of friends. They got along, much better than anyone ever expected to—they were both misfits, though for very different reasons—and they were both strong in areas that complemented each other, but they didn’t talk outside of work, and they didn’t ever intentionally spend time together. Athena spent more time with her shady Underground friends than anyone from the lab, and Carina had no desire to join her.

Still, the lab would seem empty without Athena there to rabble on forever about the latest crazy conspiracy theory nonsense she’d read on the Internet.

Thinking about this was stupid. It wasn’t like Carina could do anything about any of it, anyway. Wasting her energy and time on problems she couldn’t change was completely useless. She could stress later, after she let the Imperials know whatever they wanted to know. In this moment, right now, she needed to focus on what was ahead. Biting her lip again, she squared her shoulders and turned the corner to face the main atrium of the Trinity lab complex.

Immediately, she sighed in relief. There were no Magistratum and no police; instead, there was a convoy of about six young women, all wearing matching gray dresses and small ballet flats. They were Ministratoras—they had to be, Ministratoras were the only people who wore that shade of gray—but they looked neater and more put-together than any Ministratoras Carina had ever seen before. Suddenly, she felt almost dumpy and unkempt. It was a ridiculous thought—she was at least six castes above them. Nevertheless, they seemed so perfect, so robotic, that she couldn’t shake the feeling.

“Your presence was requested at the palace,” one of them said, stepping ever-so-slightly out of formation. She averted her eyes when she spoke to Carina. It was a sign of respect—people of lower castes weren’t supposed to look their superiors in the eyes—but it made her uncomfortable anyway, for a reason she couldn’t quite place. It made sense in the hierarchy; the Ministratora was an unskilled servant, and Carina was an astrophysics student. Still…

No, Carina thought. I have to stop. Thinking about such things was not advisable, especially so when one was in earshot of women who reported directly to the Imperials.

Stifling any thought of dissent, Carina wordlessly followed the servants through the winding hallways of the Trinity complex. They seemed to know where they were supposed to go, so she didn’t ask any questions. At least she wasn’t being arrested, she thought. It felt strange to walk through the halls in the middle of the day; normally, she’d be at work at least until five, and by then nearly everyone else would be going home, too. The only people she ever encountered outside of the students in her own cohort were night workers—usually Medicas—coming in or going home after the second or third shifts. But now, in the stark daylight, there were people of all sorts out and about. Other Scientias she’d never even met before freely traversed the crowded hallways, while Suffragium trailed them, carrying stacks upon stacks of documents. Bleary-eyed Raedae hung by the tracks, basking in the artificial sun. Laborum, dressed in black and looking at their shoes, drilled holes in the wall of a new construction site, and a single Villicia screeched at them from the top of a crane. Seeing Eleutheria like this put everything in a new light. The whole city functioned like a well-oiled machine, with nothing odd, nothing amiss.

Then, suddenly, something caught Carina’s eye. One television was playing a news alert—just one, lonely screen, sitting against a dilapidated starscraper. It was the footage from last night, except it wasn’t. It had clearly been altered. Rather than showing Cassiopeia reaching for a gun, it cut to a soldier in the crowd, someone from one of the AX or TB units. He stood there innocently until something shifted in his gaze and he threw himself at the newly-crowned Imperatrix, tackling her to the floor. Underneath the video was a red ribbon blaring “ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT AT CORONATION THWARTED BY ALESTRA CIPHER.”

Carina opened her mouth as if to say something, but she stopped herself before any sound could come out, internally thanking God that the Minstratorum hadn’t noticed. That video was a complete lie. Cassiopeia had been the assailant, she was sure of it, and that soldier threw himself at Acidalia in an attempt to protect her, not to kill her. Why would they pin the blame on this random man instead of the actual assassin?

They must be trying to protect her, Carina thought, but why? Besides, this was too little, too late. The people would know that it’d been the Generalis girl. They wouldn’t stand for this—

But they would. They absolutely would. Nobody but Carina knew what had really happened at the coronation—or, at least, nobody who wasn’t in on the plan. And why wouldn’t the citizens believe their government, especially when disbelief could get someone imprisoned?

A chill ran down Carina’s spine.