Red Rising Read Free

collective stink and sweat soon make a bog of the area. Lights flicker in the distance, telling us to stay clear of the magnetic horizonTram tracks on the other side of the depot.
    We don’t mingle with the Gammas as we head for the horizonTram in a staggered line of rust-red suits. Half with Lambda Ls, half with Gamma canes painted in dark red on their backs. Two scarlet headTalks. Two blood-red Helldivers.
    A cadre of Tinpots eye us as we trudge by over the worn concrete floor. Their Gray duroArmor is simple and tired, as unkempt as their hair. It would stop a simple blade, maybe an ion blade, and a pulseBlade or razor would go through it like paper. But we’ve only seen those on the holoCan. The Grays don’t even bother to make a show of force. Their thumpers dangle at their sides. They know they won’t have to use them.
    Obedience is the highest virtue.
    The Gray captain, Ugly Dan, a greasy bastard, throws a pebble at me. Though his skin is darkened from exposure to the sun, his hair is gray like the rest of his Color. It hangs thin and weedy over his eyes—two icecubes rolled in ash. The Sigils of his Color, a blocky gray symbol like the number four with several bars beside it, mark along each hand and wrist. Cruel and stark, like all the Grays.
    I heard they pulled Ugly Dan off the frontline back in Eurasia, wherever that is, after he got crippled and they didn’t want to buy him a new arm. He has an old replacement model now. He’s insecure about it, so I make sure he sees me give the arm a glance.
    “Saw you had an exciting day, darling.” His voice is as stale and heavy as the air inside my frysuit. “Brave hero now, are you, Darrow? I always thought you’d be a brave hero.”
    “You’re the hero,” I say, nodding to his arm.
    “And you think you’re smart, doncha?”
    “Just a Red.”
    He winks at me. “Say hello to your little birdie for me. A ripe thing for piggin’.” Licks his teeth. “Even for a Ruster.”
    “Never seen a bird.” Except on the HC.
    “Ain’t that a thing,” he chuckles. “Wait, where you going?” he asks as I turn. “A bow to your betters won’t go awry, doncha think?” He snickers to his fellows. Careless of his mockery, I turn and bow deeply. My uncle sees this and turns from it, disgusted.
    We leave the Grays behind. I don’t mind bowing, but I’ll probably cut Ugly Dan’s throat if I ever get the chance. Kind of like saying I’d take a zip out to Venus in a torchShip if it ever suited my fancy.
    “Hey, Dago. Dago!” Loran calls to Gamma’s Helldiver. The man’s a legend; all the other divers just a flash in the pan. I might be better than him. “What’d you pull?”
    Dago, a pale strip of old leather with a smirk for a face, lights a long burner and puffs out a cloud.
    “Don’t know,” he drawls.
    “Come on!”
    “Don’t care. Raw count never matters, Lambda.”
    “Like bloodyhell it doesn’t! What’d he pull on the week?” Loran calls as we load into the tram. Everyone’s lighting burners and popping out the swill. But they’re all listening intently.
    “Nine thousand eight hundred and twenty-one kilos,” a Gamma boasts. At this, I lean back and smile; I hear cheers from the younger Lambdas. The old hands don’t react. I’m busy wondering what Eo will do with sugar this month. We’ve never earned sugar before, only ever won it at cards. And fruit. I hear the Laurel gets you fruit. She’ll probably give it all away to hungry children just to prove to the Society she doesn’t need their prizes. Me? I’d eat the fruit and play politics on a full stomach. But she’s got the passion for ideas, while I’ve got no extra passion for anything but her.
    “Still won’t win,” Dago drawls as the tram starts away. “Darrow’s a young pup, but he is smart enough to know that. Ain’t you, Darrow?”
    “Young or not, I beat your craggy ass.”
    “You sure ’bout that?”
    “Deadly sure.” I wink and blow him a kiss. “Laurel’s