Free The Stars Askew by Rjurik Davidson

distaste, for the Collegia—half-criminal collections of small traders and shopkeepers—still used slaves. For Max they would never be real allies. They would oppose the Houses when it suited them, but never consistently, never from the point of principle.
    â€œIt will be quick, humane,” Dumas said.
    Ejan looked up, his eyes registering the slightest shock at the sight of Max. “A general without an army. How did you survive?”
    Maximilian sighed and sat on a nearby seat. “I’m not sure I did, Ejan, but I’m not here to fight. I just want to know where my supporters are.”
    Ejan smiled ever so slightly. “Maximilian, after you ventured on your mad journey to the Sunken City, your group fell apart.”
    â€œNot all of them, surely. Kata? Where is she?”
    â€œMany of them were arrested by Technis before the overthrow. Some were driven half mad by torture. The rest dispersed, gone. Oppositions cut across new lines now. I do hope you’ll join us vigilants. We’re pressing the insurgency all the way, revolutionizing every part of life, binding the thaumaturgists to the decisions of the Assembly.”
    Dumas sized Maximilian up. “Opponents must be eliminated, you understand.”
    Ejan leaned across to Maximilian and clasped his hands in an awkward attempt at affection. “We need everyone on our side. There are those who argue for moderation, for discussion. But you cannot allow discussion to occur when the very basis of our rule is threatened.”
    Max shook Ejan’s hands away. “Ejan, I always hoped we’d be allies. You frightened me, though—your certainty, the cold equations you do in your head. I had hoped you would grow into a brother, but you have moved in the opposite direction. Not toward warmth, but to ever more abstract ideals—ideals above all else, am I right? Touch is not something that comes naturally to you, Ejan. You should have someone else do your convincing for you, someone with softer hands.”
    Ejan sat back, unmoved. “Don’t you make those same equations in your head, Maximilian? We overthrew Markus and the rest of the old guard. Events passed them by. Make sure the same doesn’t happen to you.”
    Max stood up, angry now. Ejan was right: he, too, made cold calculations in his head. But who didn’t? The trick was to keep yourself anchored to life, to people, to warmth. To realize that those calculations are simply in your head, not in the world itself.
    Max looked away and down, but in that direction were only the designs of the Bolt. “An instrument of murder, no doubt.”
    â€œA terrible instrument, isn’t it?” said Ejan. “We never wanted this, did we? But have you seen the citizens, hungry on the street? Have you seen the saboteurs, striking wherever we are weak? They force our hand.”
    â€œThey brought it onto themselves,” said Dumas. “They have blockaded the city, attacked us from within. I designed it so it is almost painless. Like a rapid blow.”
    â€œKilling one’s opponents is a sign you’ve already lost the battle,” said Maximilian.
    Ejan shrugged. “You would prefer us to starve, then? Is that what you plan to do?”
    To this, Max had no response.
    â€œSee, you find yourself doing the same cold calculations in your head. Once we starve, then the Houses return and drench the city in blood. There is no middle road. It’s either one path or the other.”
    â€œEither way, we’ve already lost.”
    â€œEither way, you’ve already lost,” said Ejan.
    As Max walked dejectedly through the corridors, Aya said: Oh, I like him .
    *   *   *
    The Quaedian was Maximilian’s old stomping ground. Once, he had thought of it as his quarter, and again he found the dynamism that had attracted him: new theater companies announced their avant-garde productions; half-drunk bohemians spilled