by Jenn Lyons
spit-take. “You were fourteen?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Paul always made it sound like you came directly from Kaimer to the Janus Project.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“You were not fourteen. Neither of you were—you were both at least eighteen. I thought you were closer to twenty.”
“Fourteen, Vanessa. We were both fourteen-years-old.”
“Rubbish! You were full grown adults. Pull you out of the oven—you were done baking. Fourteen is still in puberty, all acne and baby-fat.”
“We uh...just...” I floundered. “Matured early?”
“Mallory, fourteen-year-olds are not full grown adults. They do not look like full-grown adults. That’s not normal.”
“It is for Sarcodinay.”
An uncomfortable, pregnant silence followed Medusa’s statement.
“Well darling, that means it’s not just your DNA then, doesn’t it?” Vanessa finally said.
I looked at her. She continued: “Shaniran said that Leia-Maia Shana tampered with your DNA. Easy enough to think that’s why you didn’t age like a normal teenage girl. But Paul didn’t age like a normal teenage boy, did he? And what I want to know is—why didn’t anyone at this fancy school of yours notice?”
I sighed. That much at least was obvious. “Because weird doesn’t look out of place if weird is all you’ve ever known.”
“Right. Which means it wasn’t just you, or even just you and Paul. I wager all of those kids were done up the same way, and the teachers wouldn’t say anything because the teachers already knew.”
I rubbed my cheek and tried to think of a flaw in her reasoning. I failed.
“Nicholas didn’t have any idea, did he?” Vanessa asked. “Just how very young you were?”
“Oh god. I do not want to talk about that.”
Vanessa slid a hand over the inside of the Aegis. “No wonder he started acting so sketchy around you. Fourteen’s not even legal by Liberty standards and they’re very lenient about that sort of thing.”
I raised a hand. “Still don’t want to talk about it.”
“You could ruin him—”
I changed the subject. “Did Gabriel Zaitsev ever talk about his family?”
Vanessa cleared her throat, looking vaguely embarrassed. “Not unless you put a knife to his throat or got him especially drunk. His family memories were painful, I gathered. His mother had died just a few years before, and he didn’t have a very good relationship with his step-father.”
“Did he ever talk about his real father?”
“No. Never. He wanted to be a doctor like his mother, and I think he resented that his skills as a killer were seen as more useful.”
I raised an eyebrow. “He was that good? I’ve never seen any striker pushed away from a medic position who wanted one.”
“He was—” She floundered momentarily, at a loss for words. “He was amazing, Mallory. Insane in his own way, of course. A complete tagger. It was like magic. He was the sort of man who could walk through a raging firefight as if he were out for a stroll in a nice park, and end the fight without a scratch on him. He never missed either. Never.” She put her fingertips to her lips. “I once saw him— I mean he— The rest of the team was pinned down by a whole squad of ghosts—enough firepower to level a dead city—and he killed every ghost as if they were defenseless and had left their weapons at home. I’ll never forget it until the day I die.”
“And young you said?”
“Around eighteen, I think.”
Only by force of will did I stop myself from sneering when I said: “The same way I was around eighteen, you mean?”
She stared blankly at me, and then blushed. “He—oh Keepers. I didn’t. We never—oh you don’t think he was from Kaimer too?”
“Why not? Everyone else seems to have been. You know this, this, is why the league doesn’t assign people to investigate cases they are emotionally involved with. You don’t know how hard it is for me to not retreat to my bedroom so I can gibber freely.” I massaged my temples with the knuckles of my hand. “The bad news is that Zach may have a Kaimer-trained assistant helping him out, which considerably complicates matters. The good news is that your sweet little angel may not be dead—” I paused. “What was the connection to Isis again?”
“Team medic for Les Dieux de Guerre. Also, apparently the reason he destroyed the team.”
“Love affair gone bad?” Vanessa suggested.
“No, he—” And Medusa did something she hardly ever does: she shut up.
“Medusa, what is it?”
“Mallory, I’m sorry.”
“Medusa—“
“The League analysis of the striketeam’s destruction suggests that Zacharei Zaitsev orchestrated the elimination of Les Dieux de Guerre after the team doctor, Isis, discovered that Zacharei Zaitsev was an alias.”
I frowned. “We guessed that. Why are you talking to me like you’re about to tell me my favorite pet just died?”
“Because Zacharei Zaitsev’s real name is Seris-Sarco Zaladin.”
I sat down in a chair and began an intense and systematic study of the wall. No.
Vanessa laughed nervously. “I don’t understand. That’s a Sarcodinay name.”
“Yes. Because he’s Sarcodinay.”
“No,” I said. “There must be a mistake in the file. He’s not Sarcodinay. He’s human. I’ve known him for years, Medusa. There’s no way he’s Sarcodinay. He can’t be.”
“According to this, his outside appearance is a nanite cosmetic shell, carefully grown over a Sarcodinay who was, either due to natural genetic mutation or some manner of artificial stunting, confined to a size falling within the upper range of acceptable Homo Sapiens parameters. He is Sarcodinay.”
I shook my head with closed eyes. “That’s not possible. Zach’s a lot of things, but...no. Not that. He couldn’t be an alien.”
“I am sorry.”
“Oh this is ridiculous!” Vanessa said. “Sarco is the royal family designation. You can’t honestly mean to suggest that a midget Sarcodinay was born to the Royal Family and allowed to live two minutes past the first weighing? And what would he have eaten? He couldn’t have survived for years out in the Wilds eating nothing but human food! He’d have starved to death!” Vanessa asked Medusa, “Who ran this garbage analysis, anyway?
“Ah yes. That would be Special Council Advisor Szabo Ernak.”
No one spoke.
Vanessa broke the silence. “Wow. Okay, so let’s go to the Admiral. If he already understands the threat—”
“Maybe he understands too well.” I shook my head. “Nessa, one of his people told me to stay away from this. Told me in no uncertain terms. Szabo... Szabo is connected to this somehow. I don’t know how, but he...” I chewed on a fingernail. “In any event, I can’t very well go to him and ask him for an explanation, can I? I’m doing exactly what he told me not to.”
Vanessa sighed her agreement. “So what now?”
“Nothing changes. We go to Keepers’ Island.”
TWELVE.Rhodes
Medusa skimmed the Aegis over pale sand beaches and turquoise green waters, passed coconut trees that probed a blue sky sprinkled with white cotton clouds. I smiled as she purposefully flew us near the caldera of the island’s active volcano, which had been contributing its steady donations of lava and pumice to the island’s growth for over fifty years. She gave us a royal tour of jungles and rainforest, mountain paths and hidden waterfalls that formed lakes of silver glass. If I opened the hatch, I could have reached out and grabbed handfuls of cattleya orchids, yellow hibiscus, plumeria blossoms, and birds-of-paradise. I didn’t, for reasons both logical and emotional: the first, because we were flying too fast, and the second because just then flowers made me think of funerals.
I was barely aware of the terrain moving below me, save for the occasional outburst from Medusa as she pointed out a perfect view. Most of Keepers’ Island, and indeed the entire island chain of which i
t was the largest, was technically a Quarantine Zone, swept clean of human habitation when the Sarcodinay relocated most of the Plague survivors. Maia-Leia Shana began construction of Keepers’ Hospital dome before the evacuations were completed, and in one hundred years since, had never left the Island. Keepers’ Hospital had survived tsunamis and lava flows, a testament to both the durability and stubborn resolve of Sarcodinay architecture. I stared at the colossal dome without seeing it.
ggg
Zach’s punch hits me in the ribs, and just as quick, he follows up with a kick that sends me reeling back, desperately rolling to keep out of his way.
I am losing, like I always do.
I flip back to avoid another kick, knowing he will not let up, not give me a second’s breathing room, will hammer at me until I am down. I whirl unexpectedly, kicking at him and trying to force him on the defensive. I have little choice.
“You’ll never be stronger than me, Lory.” He sneers. “Your only chance is to be faster and better. You have to out-think me.”
I don’t waste my breath on a response. Duncan had taught me well, but Zach still has size, reach, and a dozen years more experience. I move to punch him, watch his body move in response to the feint, roll out of the way of his own counterattack and finally pull a knee up into his stomach. He grabs the leg, and I use that pivot to roll backwards and land a strong kick up to his head as I somersault. He’d likely have hit me in mid-air, but the kick distracts him. I tumble, come down on the practice mat and sweep out with my legs, tripping him and sending him crashing down. He rolls, trying to hit me, but I roll up again, kicking him
