Page 71 of The Mars House

“The Speaker told me you used to have a cocaine addiction which didn’t show up on your halo, after Max and River vanished,” January explained softly. “So I know someone else took it for you. I’m—please. I’ll do as I’m told, I’m never going to ask for anything, and I won’t do anything to sabotage you, you don’t need to worry. All I want is to get out of this alive, so that’s . . . what I’m trying to do.” He bowed a little and tried to leave, because there was nothing he could do here except get in the way and if he lobbed the drone out the window then he could have some privacy in his room. But Gale was fast when they liked, and put one arm across the door before he could reach it.

“No. No, no, January, I brought you here to fight me. Someone like me needs someone like you in the room, or what I think isn’t worth anything—”

“No, you don’t need that, you just think it’s fun!” January protested, far more angry than he had thought he could be, for no real reason except he was tired and alone, and it turned out he was a lot more upset about the ruined bridge that he had imagined he possibly could be. “That’s just sparring practise for you, when you’re already the heavyweight champion. I’m not in your league. I’m not in any league, I’m a dancer, and even if I was, I don’t know what happened to Max!”

Gale dropped their arm. “I don’t . . . know what to say that will help. I didn’t kill anyone. And I’d never hurt you.”

“I’d never hurt you either, but that doesn’t stop you planning and behaving and legislating as if I definitely will,” he said tightly. “No—don’t—say anything, please don’t say anything, I don’t need to be body-slammed through the floor again—”

“January, saying things to you is not the same as actual violence—”

“No, but it’s a fight you’ll definitely win! Can’t you see it’s that unequal? You don’t have any bloody trouble seeing that my muscles are stronger than yours, why can’t you admit that your brain is at least three times better than mine?”

“Because it isn’t! You’re completely capable of—”

“Good night! Good night,” he said, struggling to keep his voice level. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He managed to get the elevator doors shut before a drone could follow him in, and then he held it together until the fourth floor, but by the time the doors opened on the fifth, he had cracked, and the world had gone blurry and lensing. He had to pull off the new glasses and press his sleeve against his eyes before he walked out into the corridor.

He almost didn’t see the always-writing person in the rust-coloured jumper. They were right in front of him, looking like they wanted to say something. They must have been waiting for the lift. He bowed his head and stepped aside.

“Sorry,” he muttered, more for the state he was in than getting in the way.

They glanced up and down the corridor—checking for cameras—then touched his arm, and pulled him into a wordless hug. Even though he still didn’t know who they were, and he had a horrible feeling they were the real version of him, the person who should have been married to Gale, it was such a kind simple thing to do that something in him snapped and he couldn’t do anything except cry against their shoulder. After a little while, they tilted him back and bowed once, and called the elevator, and that was it.

He should have said thank you, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know their name, and right in his bones he didn’t want to. It would have to be one of those strange, half-magic things that happened sometimes, and in the morning, the two of them would go back to carefully pretending the other one didn’t exist, because that would be the only way not to go mad.

27 It was, said his glasses, an original Anna Minami, and priceless. Anna Minami: born Tokyo 2025, early virtual artist, more appreciated after her lifetime, which she spent mostly as a security guard at Haneda Airport. Scholars had never been able to prove it, but they suspected she was behind the painted birds who made nests in the sinks in the ladies’ bathrooms, and likewise that she had, after the IT department kept scrubbing the coding and calling the birds graffiti, something to do with the giant purple elephant that had then moved into the IT office.

31

As it often did if he was upset, his cage ached. You weren’t really supposed to wear it all the time, and where the steel tendons lay, he could see bruises starting to form. It wasn’t that the cage was too tight, it was just the consistent pressure, the same way you got bruises on your face if you wore a mask for too long. He should ask for the key, to be out of it for a little while at least, but he couldn’t face going back down to beg Gale for favours, and anyway, he’d made the oath. They’d let him out when they felt safe.

An angry little voice snarled that they wouldn’t feel safe even if they cut his arms off first.

No; no. He couldn’t get angry with someone for being afraid. You didn’t choose to be afraid.

You could accept that being afraid wasn’t a reason to—

“Shut up,” he said aloud, to try and stop his thoughts. He didn’t like how righteous they were getting.

So he stood under the hot shower to try and ease all the aching places, and felt determinedly grateful that there was hot water, and so much of it. A whole twenty minutes. It was incredible.

He was very lucky.

He was.

He’d only just bullied himself to sleep when an almighty bang on the door jolted him awake. It sounded like someone had smacked their whole weight into it.

January lay still, trying to tell if he had been dreaming. He hadn’t even realized he was asleep.

Something scratched at the door.

Not a dream, then.

He got up, not liking being locked in his cage with someone perhaps trying to break into the room, but it wasn’t like he was weak in it. He told himself to get a grip. It was probably nothing; in fact, no. It was probably Kasha.

He pulled the door open and almost fell over Gale, who was on the floor right outside.