23. Obila Part IV Tartarus

Lupo gasped,gripping his armrest so tightly that he deformed it. Their taxi was speeding toward a waterfall cascading down a sheer cliff, spanning many miles in either direction. Hundreds of feet above, the city continued on. The wall of water was incredible, sparkling green-blue in the cloudy dusk.

He had been so awestruck by the scale of the waterfall that he hadn't noticed they were hurtling straight for it. Lupo expected that at any moment the self-driving taxi would lift itself or alter its course—but it just zoomed on, straight toward the damned thing.

"Watch out!" Lupo cried, instinctively reaching out to shield Auren, who was seated beside him.

He swung around only to find the younger man tittering with laughter, leaning his head into his brother's as their ride flew right through the hologram of water and into a vast industrial district buried under the utopian ideal of the surface level.

"Welcome to Tartarus," Fengári said. "The real Obila."

Lupo stared in wonder. This district of the understory was sprawling, though not nearly as limitless as above. The lighting was diffused, yellowish, cut harshly by the stark neon signs of racy establishments and a gritty, wet slick that seemed to coat the place. Low buildings and narrow roads wound and sprawled in every direction, nowhere near as orderly as the surface.

"The caste system on Obila is simple," Fengári informed him. Their taxi swooped low, ducking and weaving along the busy streets as it directed itself to their restaurant.

"Very," Auren agreed.

"You either have credits, or you don't. And if you don't, you live down here, hidden from view. Technically, anyone can go anywhere they please, but trust me, the stink of Tartarus sticks to you. They know. They always know. And more often than not, however hard you try to scramble out of here, you'll always wind up right back where you started. Isn't that right, Ren?"

"I'm afraid so," Auren said. "Which is why?—"

"Which is why," Fengári interrupted, "your only choice is to love the damned place."

"Hear, hear," Auren cheered.

The craft set down with a clunk, and the door slid open to a poorly lit street. A flickering pink-and-blue sign beckoned them through a door: Aenaon. The establishment was tiny, with only a few tables occupied. Lupo noticed a woman glance anxiously at Auren, and he overheard her whisper to her companion about his odd eyes as they sat at a booth in the corner that overlooked the street. The taxi was taking off outside, and an alert billing Fengári for their ride chimed on his phone.

"Well, that's me overdrawn." He laughed. "Looks like this one is on credit. I better fucking win tomorrow, or we might have to hop right off-world and join the flotilla in the doomsday battle over the Keth homeworld."

"The what?" Auren asked. Lupo realized they hadn't told him yet. "And win what?" he added, looking from one of his companions to the other. Lupo couldn't help but feel an eerie chill as his unsettling eyes flickered at him.

"Let me fill you in," Lupo began, flipping open a menu and looking away from whatever had gone wrong in the upload. The roboticist had mentioned a signal being downloaded… but he had no idea what to make of it. Instead, he began to recount the events that Auren had missed, happy to distract himself from the eyes and relieved to finally just be seated somewhere safe and comfortable. Auren smiled at him all the while, his gaze unnerving.

* * *

"That's the bike?" Auren asked for the third time, looking at his brother's holo, incredulous at the purchase. "You must have borrowed a mint. Fengári, you know those guys mean business, right? They've killed for half that much," he whispered, his voice cracking.

"It's a cool bike, though, right?" Fengári said, grinning despite the tension he'd created.

"You're a fucking idiot. But yeah. It's a cool bike. And if anyone can ride it, you can," Auren replied.

Lupo chewed away at his bean-and-something stew, happy to have been able to reunite the pair. They'd been chatting like this all evening, long after he'd finished his tale, and their fraternal banter was only making him fall for Auren even harder. He could barely take his eyes off of him, and any time those haunting eyes connected with his, he felt a shudder of expectation race through his body. His cock ached under the table, and he debated disabling it but decided not to, enjoying the humanness of his experience of lust. Their third round of cocktails had just arrived, and Lupo looked wearily at the latest batch of umbrella-and-garnish-laden drinks.

"Oh yeah." Auren winked, passing him a pastel-pink cocktail with a ruby heart swirling about its surface. "This baby is for you. Lupo, meet Aphrodite. A personal favorite, if I don't say so myself."

Lupo hated sugary drinks but accepted the beverage nonetheless. Auren had picked it for him after the last round, and he flushed as the heart within glimmered up at him, the syrup sweet and cloying. The room spun as his body simulated intoxication, and the heart was becoming a spiral now as the drink swirled around.

"It's still just regular alcohol, by the way—none of your synth-cocktail shenanigans in Aenaon," Auren followed up.

Lupo took an appreciative sip. The drink had a berry-cream flavor, and the rich syrup of the heart-swirl was tart and bright. He found he liked it more than he expected to.

"Nothing like a hangover to set yourself up for a W on race day," Fengári slurred. His drink was half gone already, and Lupo watched him blow bubbles in the bright yellow effervescence.

"What will you do if you don't win?" Auren asked somberly, not as impacted by the alcohol as the other two.

"Any room on that stolen starship of yours?" Fengári asked ruefully.

"Always," Auren assured him. "Though I've heard these mercs go to great lengths to recover their losses… I told you to get out while you could. I can't believe you got us—you—back into all of this."

"I'm sorry. I didn't think you were coming back. I never had a plan B. It was always holo racing or nothing," Fengári said wistfully, finishing his drink in a frustrated gulp and slamming his glass onto the counter.

"I know, bruv," Auren said, clinking his glass against his brother's. "One more?"

"You know me too well," Fengári replied merrily.

The place had cleared out, and Lupo felt an uneasy prickle along the back of his neck as he stared out into the street while the brothers ordered their last round. A small group of men had passed by the window several times as the pair bantered. Each time, one or two had looked directly at their table. It had been subtle, nonchalant, but Lupo had picked up on it. He suddenly wished he'd brought a side arm with him.

"Hey, Fengári, do you recognize those guys?" he asked, trying not to react too obviously to their apparent menace.

Their booth was front and center in the café's window. The quartet of men were facing them now, their holstered firearms clearly evident.

"Never seen them before." He burped, hardly giving them a second thought.

Auren looked nervous though. He flashed his blue-storm eyes at Lupo, the hint of a feral snarl curling out along the corner of his mouth. For a moment, he looked nothing like himself. He'd gone from sweet to wolfish in a moment, a predatory glean darting across his visage.

"Mercs," he whispered.

"We can slip out the back." Lupo gestured subtly to the restaurant's little kitchen, where a back door was propped open to let in fresh air.

The men across the street were still watching them as the three got up one by one and headed out through the rear and back into the yellow-brown dusk of Tartarus.

"This way." Fengári motioned, sprinting down the alley.

"Here we go again," Lupo muttered to himself, taking off after the brothers.

He was tired. Really tired. And as much as he wanted to disengage from the sensation, he allowed himself to wallow in it. The two synthetics kept pace with Fengári easily, not wanting to leave him behind, and Lupo elevated his senses to the maximum to detect approaching voices or footsteps in their pursuit.

To his great relief, he heard nothing.

By the time they'd reached the concrete housing block that was apparently Auren and Fengári's home, he was fairly sure they were being followed. The public housing on this level was far less ornamented than the surface buildings. The structure was enormous, and hordes of people loitered outside. Many were drinking or openly using substances. Some were burning trash in old shipping containers scattered about the place. He shuddered, imagining a younger, more vulnerable version of Auren being forced to call this place home.

"Quick, inside!" Fengári said as the building scanned his face and opened the door for him.

They bolted up to the third level of the tenement, which was even gloomier inside than out. The stairwell was musty and, like everything in Tartarus, slightly wet. The smell was acrid. By the time they stumbled into the brothers' apartment, Lupo was about ready to collapse with mental and emotional fatigue.

The three stood there huffing, each lost in their own spiral of fear. After a time, Fengári began to chuckle quietly. His non-sequitur laughter was eventually joined by Auren's and then finally Lupo's as the three of them giggled wildly at the fear and excitement the day had lobbed at them.

"Alright, lovebirds, I'm hitting the sheets. The race is tomorrow, eleven p.m. local. I expect you'll be there to celebrate my win. G'night, guys." Fengári squeezed Auren and kissed him on the cheek before bolting the door and applying a secondary lock.

"Just in case." He winked before disappearing down a short hall.

"So this is villa Auren?" Lupo murmured, taking in the space.

The walls, floor, and ceiling were all concrete. Only a small, narrow window at the far end of the living room offered any view. But one or both of them had taken the time to add little touches to the place that gave it personality. Lupo drank it all in—a strand of lights, an odd, fernlike plant, and an old checkered couch.

"Not as clean as I would have kept it had I been here…" Auren said, already doing the stack of dishes in the little kitchenette's sink.

"I'm glad you're back," Lupo said, leaning on the counter beside him and watching him as he worked.

"Me too," Auren said as he washed a knife.

His hand slipped, and the blade cut into his synthetic palm, causing the suspension fluid his body used to keep the artificial tissue alive—which looked like blood—to spill out into the sink.

"Are you okay?" Lupo asked instinctively. But even as he watched, the wound stitched itself up. Of course he was.

Auren just smiled at him, finishing the last of the dishes and placing them in the drying rack before looking around and sighing.

"I miss the stateroom on the Fortunato. But let's stay here tonight and keep an eye on Fengári—what do you think?" Auren asked.

"I think I'd follow you wherever you asked me to," Lupo replied.

"Well, follow me to my bedroom then; it's right over here," Auren said ruefully, gently grabbing him by the hand and guiding him down the only other hallway in the apartment.

Lupo followed eagerly.

"Wow. He kept it… exactly like it was," Auren said, examining a picture frame on his room's little desk.

Lupo watched as Auren ran his hand lovingly along a metal cabinet's surface before sitting on the twin mattress lying on the floor. Lupo sat beside him.

"Lupo?" Auren asked after a time.

"Yes?"

The synthetic paused momentarily before continuing in a strained voice—maybe even choking back a bit of fear.

"Will you hold me while I fall asleep?"

Lupo's heart was thudding at the thought of sleeping beside him. He'd fallen effortlessly into his youthful charm the night they'd been dancing. At dinner, he hadn't been able to look away from it. And now, in the dark room, a part of him desperately wanted to reach out and kiss him.

But he couldn't. Not without knowing where that fear was coming from.

"Of course I will," Lupo said gently.

The two sat a while longer before wordlessly undressing and sliding under the sheets. The glint of Auren's glowing eyes distracted Lupo momentarily, but then he did his best not to focus on it.

Lupo hesitated for a moment. He felt uncertain about what was expected of him. But then his instincts got the better of him, and he wrapped an arm around Auren's slender frame, pulling him close and spooning into him. He felt Auren press himself against him, and the contact and warmth from the places their bodies touched was the sweetest thing he had felt since he'd been decanted. Lupo pressed his face into the back of Auren's head, feeling his soft chestnut curls lace against his skin. He inhaled, and despite their synthetic nature, he swore Auren had a smell.

He could have stayed like this forever. He listened quietly to Auren's artificial breath, ridding his frame of various toxins and other buildup accrued over its operation—and as it slowed and became rhythmic, he satisfied himself knowing he'd done his job well enough to gentle him into sleep. Lupo kissed the back of his head before burying his face in his neck and passing into his own restless dreams right behind him.