“Yes, so I’ve been hearing. My question is, how long can you keep going before you need to rest?”
“Rest?” said Steven, as though Paul had just suggested that they trade in the Nomad for a used Toyota with one careful owner. “Look, I was thrilled when they gave me my own shuttle to fly—”
Yes, thought Paul, and look what happened there.
“—but this baby is something else entirely. You’ll have to wrest control of it from my cold, dead hands.”
“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” said Paul drily. “How long to the first wormhole?”
“If I increase velocity, a matter of twenty hours. After that, there are two more virtually on our doorstep. Are you still worried about a pursuit?”
“They’re coming,” said Paul, “and they’ll be riding in at least one of these.”
“May I make a suggestion?” said Alis, speaking for the first time.
Paul cocked an eyebrow. “Go ahead.”
“The initial course we plotted for Archaeon was the most direct, but if we took a slightly more circuitous route, we might be able to shake off any pursuers.”
Paul considered for a moment, then shook his head.
“We have to assume that they know you’re aware of Archaeon’s existence, otherwise why would they have targeted you and Councillor Tiray to begin with? If we take too long to get to Archaeon, then we may give them a chance to beat us there, and we could exit the final wormhole just in time to be blown to pieces. No, we have a head start, and we need to hold on to it. Just put your foot down, or whatever it is you do with these things, and get us there fast.”
Alis didn’t argue. That was good. Paul wasn’t in the mood for arguing, especially not with this little Illyri.
“What about you?” he asked her. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine,” said Alis.
“Well, since you’re the only ones on board properly equipped to fly this thing, I need at least one of you fresh and alert at all times. Steven, in thirty minutes I want you to sleep, whether you think you need to or not. Take four hours, then Alis, you do the same. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” said Steven. Paul thought that he sounded like a sulky schoolboy whose dad had told him to go to bed just as the movie he was watching was getting good. In another life, of course, that’s just what Steven would have been: a teenage boy in school, studying for exams, eating meals at the kitchen table with his brother and his mom, and thinking about girls, money, gaming, and his future, but the arrival of the Illyri had changed all that. Instead, although not yet even sixteen, he was fighting and killing light-years from home. What concerned Paul was that Steven seemed to be showing no signs of trauma or regret about what he had been forced to do. Oh, he still missed their mother, Paul knew that. He had heard Steven crying often enough in those first months, and a deep sadness still overcame him whenever her name was mentioned, but he was hardening. According to Peris, he had exhibited barely a flicker of emotion as the trap was sprung on the raiders, and he had fired on them without mercy. It struck Paul that his brother might be turning into a better killer than he was.
He left Steven and Alis to their work, passed quietly by Thula and Rizzo, and saw that Tiray was stretched out across two chairs, his eyes slightly clouded as he slept. Once upon a time, those eyes would not have failed to give Paul the creeps, but Syl had changed all that. Syl was lovely to him, and something of his appreciation of her alien beauty had transferred itself to the rest of her kind. He could not hate them quite as much as he once did.
Still, he could try.
Peris was waiting for him back in the meeting room.
“You need to sleep soon,” he told Paul. “You have to be sharp. They’re relying on their lieutenant.”
“What about you?”
“I will sleep too, once we’ve finished talking.”
Paul was tempted to lean against the hull, or even take a seat, but he was afraid that if he did so, he would not be able to stay awake. He chose to remain standing.
“What is it you know?” he asked Peris.
“I might ask you the same thing.”
“Seriously, Captain,” said Paul, for that had been Peris’s rank when he left Earth, “why did you really leave the governor’s service for the Brigades? Why did you choose to stay close to my brother and me?”
In all of their months together, through induction, training, and now on this, their first mission, Paul had never yet found the correct moment, or the courage, to ask Peris this question.
“Because Meia asked me to protect you. Because she told me that the fate of the Illyri might well be linked to yours, and my first loyalty is to my own kind, even above Governor Andrus himself.”
“Is that all she said?”
“Yes.”
“And you believed her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I trusted her, and . . .”
For the first time, Peris looked away.
“And?”
“After I made my decision, I must confess that I had doubts. I regretted it. It would have been easier to stay in Edinburgh. I was concerned for Governor Andrus, for he was surrounded by enemies. I almost considered going to him and asking him to take me back. I even went so far as to visit him in his quarters, but—”
He paused. Paul had never seen such puzzlement, such hurt, on Peris’s face before. The old soldier always appeared so sure, so confident in himself. But not now, not as he spoke of the Illyri governor whom he had served loyally for so long.
“The governor was no longer the same,” Peris continued, finally. “He had changed. I cannot explain how I knew, or even the nature of his transformation—except that he seemed ridiculously content for one who was about to lose his daughter to his enemy. He was not the Lord Andrus to whom I had sworn loyalty, and he was not alone in his chambers. The Nairene witch Syrene stood at his right hand, and it seemed that something of what burned darkly in her now burned also in him. That’s the only way I can describe it. And so I left, and I did not look back.”
It was Paul’s turn to speak. He chose his words carefully. He believed Peris, but he did not want to put at risk any of those members of the Resistance who knew what had happened in the depths of Dundearg Castle, so he did not name names. He simply told Peris some of the truth: that certain members of the Diplomatic Corps appeared to be carrying an alien organism in their skulls, a parasite of unknown origin, and it seemed that they were doing so willingly; that Meia had found evidence of experiments being conducted on humans by the Diplomats’ sinister Scientific Development Division, including the implantation of similar organisms not just into humans but also into other animal species, but those implantations appeared to have failed. Finally, he said that Meia had seen the bodies of human beings split open like grow bags of fertilizer, and anemone-like tendrils sprouting from their insides.
Paul stopped talking but Peris remained silent, taking in all that he had learned. He seemed shocked at the revelations of his own race’s capacity for cruelty.
“Do you think Tiray knows?” Paul asked.
“Tiray is a politician,” Peris replied. “They live for secrets, even more than most Illyri. My guess is that he does not, at least not for sure, or else he would not have risked a mission to Archaeon. But, Paul—”
Paul was startled by Peris’s use of his first name. Until now, Peris had only ever referred to him by his rank or his surname.
“—what you know places you at great risk. Is Steven also aware of this?”
Paul nodded.
“Be careful around Tiray,” Peris warned. “I have no personal experience of dealing with him, but Lord Andrus always respected him. Nevertheless, Tiray has his own reasons for pursuing his investigation, and who knows where all this may lead? Tiray might not be happy to know that a human i
s privy to the dirtiest secrets of the Corps, and, by extension, the Illyri. Murders have been committed for less.”
“And what about you?” said Paul. “You said yourself that your first loyalty is to the Illyri. Would you kill to keep such secrets?”
“No,” said Peris. “But I would kill to reveal them.”
“So we’ll have to trust each other.”
“Yes,” said Peris. “You will trust me not to betray you because of what you know, and I will trust you not to use on me any of those pulse weapons that you have hidden in the cargo hold.”
Now it was Paul’s turn to be taken aback. But Peris said nothing more. He simply lay down on a couch, turned his face to the hull, and went to sleep.
CHAPTER 27
Ani’s Gifted cohort seemed to be around rather too much after that first evening, gadding about in the lounge while Syl took refuge in her room. Dessa made it her business to smile warmly at Syl as they crowded in and she slid away. On their third visit, after Syl slunk from her room to visit the toilet, Dessa was waiting for her outside the door.
“Hi, Syl,” she said, almost shyly, when the younger girl emerged.
“Hey,” said Syl.
“How are you?”
Syl looked pointedly at the visitors. “Just fabulous, thanks. Positively peachy.”
“Sorry we keep invading your space,” said Dessa. Her purple eyes were wide and mournful.
“Why are you all here again?” said Syl.
“Well, it’s a bit of a tradition we have really. Every time one of the Blue Novices has a major breakthrough, we celebrate with them at their quarters.”
“Are you telling me Ani has had three major breakthroughs?”
Syl had not known, and was surprised and hurt that Ani had not shared the news with her.
“Well, she’s just had the two really. The second one was today: she clouded two minds at once. She made two tutors think plates were hot at exactly the same time. Not many clouders get that right so soon.”
Syl smiled to herself, for this was hardly a breakthrough as far as she was concerned. In what now seemed like another life, when she and Ani had rescued the human boys from the cells at Edinburgh Castle, Ani had convinced two guards that Syl was none other than Vena—Vena the Skunk, the vicious, silver-streaked Securitat whom they hated most of all. In retrospect it had been the high point of several rather horrible days.
Dessa smiled back at her, clearly believing they had made a connection.
“It’s awesome, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But you’ve been here three times, not two,” said Syl.
“Well, last time was Mila.” She had the grace to look embarrassed. “I know, I know; Mila and Xaron have nice big rooms too, just like yours—we really should have gone there. But the thing is, Mila’s governess came with her when she joined the Sisterhood. A bit like yours did. Only yours has gone, so lucky you! Freedom! And extra room.”
“Yes. Lucky me.”
“And frankly, Mila’s governess is a pain in the backside.”
“I see. Well, enjoy yourselves.”
Dessa followed Syl back to her room.
“I’m a bit fed up actually. Fancy some company?” she said.
“I’m busy.”
“Maybe next time?”
Syl felt a little guilty as she looked into Dessa’s earnest, hurt face, and she recalled her vow to Ani, her promise that she’d try to be friendlier. Anyway, Dessa didn’t seem that bad.
“Maybe next time. See you, Dessa. Thanks,” she said.
Dessa’s smile blazed like a flashbulb as Syl shut the bedroom door.
• • •
Time dragged on that evening, and Syl grew bored locked away in her dull little room. She couldn’t settle. Briefly she thought of heading out to explore, but doing so after lectures seemed foolish, for all the teachers would be back in the Fourteenth Realm, and it was to here that she hoped to gain access. No, going during class would be preferable.
Still, pins and needles prickled up her legs, and the precious sanctity of her room started to close in on her like a prison cell, its tight little window letting in the promise of a million other realities, but none that she could reach, and none that could possibly be as claustrophobic as this life she was now forced to lead in the cloistered domain of the Nairene Sisterhood. She needed to stretch her legs, to run, to escape. To be free.
And still the celebrations in the room next door continued. Would Tanit and her acolytes ever go away?
Syl got up and stretched, pacing her quarters, imagining striding again across the Highlands, scrabbling up the steep hillsides in wind and rain, leaping squealing into an ice-cold loch then warming herself by a smoking fire, cooking bits of fish on a stick as her back stayed cold and her wet hair dripped down her spine, while her front was toasty warm, her cheeks pink from the heat.
Here, in this wretched warren, there was no change of climate, no sudden weather madness: all was faultlessly temperature-controlled by hidden monitors that made minute adjustments throughout the day and night. When you went to bed, sensors read your body temperature and adjusted the conditions in the room accordingly for maximum comfort, adding humidity, taking it away, cooling, warming. The common areas had just one setting: pleasant. All was a bubble of pleasantness: perfect weather without the inconvenience of having to take a coat, or even take off a coat. Even the showers selected the water temperature automatically. The sensors decided what was best, what would make a young Illyri’s body most comfortable, yet they knew nothing of a young Illyri’s spirit.
When they had first arrived, Syl had longed to feel the elements on her face again, and as the months crept by she found her yearning only grew for the burning cold wind she’d so loathed in Edinburgh as it whipped around the castle in winter, cracking her lips and splitting her fingers open like swollen fruit. She thought often of the gentle sunshine of April, of the November rain on her upturned face, of snowflakes sliding down her collar and catching in her hair in January. She’d do anything to feel that brittle lake biting into her skin again as she splashed Paul, his skin slipping wet beside hers, to feel once again the goose bumps of pain and pleasure.
That was when Syl had a minor revelation. It was nighttime now, and that meant the gymnasium would be empty too. During exercise classes they occasionally swam in the beautiful kidney of a pool set under a fortified crystal dome, but during the day the water that engulfed them was always tepid, its soothing droplets enveloping the bathers as gently as a womb. Syl had grown to loathe it.
Yet by night, when the gym was closed, all power would be cut, just as it was to the lecture halls, because energy was a precious commodity on the barren moon that was Avila Minor. Surely that would mean the swimming bath’s cozy, cloying waters would be losing heat right now? And she’d have the place to herself. She could swim naked, and dry herself with the towel in her locker before coming back, and no one would ever know. Maybe, as a bonus, Tanit and the others would have gone by the time she returned.
She dug in her drawer for her locker key and a small glowstick—for the gymnasium would be dark, and the locker room more so—and with these tucked in her pocket, safe and invisible, Syl took a deep breath and strode out.
Nobody even acknowledged the stony-faced Syl as she sailed past, her nose in the air. Tanit, Sarea, and Nemein had draped themselves across cushions on the floor, gossiping with Ani, ignoring the interloper. At least Ani had her back turned, so there wasn’t the mortification of being snubbed by her best friend or, worse, pitied. Syl would rather have had another showdown with Tanit than see that stricken, apologetic expression on Ani’s face ever again. Meanwhile, on the far side of the room, Dessa was engaged in lively discussion with the sisters Xaron and Mila. She was leaning against the doorway of the kitchenette, and she didn’t notice Syl.
Only Iria saw her leave, her fe
atures cool and unreadable. Iria had never hassled Syl, but then she’d never helped her either, for Iria just watched and waited, her eyes shrewd. Ani said Iria was clairvoyant, but had gone into a sulk and refused to elaborate further when Syl had wondered—okay, scoffed—why, then, did Iria always ask what was for dinner while standing in the canteen queue, and then complain about it every time?
• • •
True to Syl’s expectations, the nighttime gymnasium was cooler than the hallways outside, low underwater lighting casting a blue glow around the deserted cavern. The pool was dark and still as Syl slipped her hand into the water to test it, and it, too, was colder than usual, although still some way off the freezing waters of the freshwater lake of her memories. Still, it felt rather heavenly to have this entire place to herself, and she quickly slipped her robe over her head, dumping it on the ground, then slid into the water. Goose pimples tingled briefly across her body and she smiled, delighted by the sensations, enjoying the surprise of cool water between her thighs, against her belly, under her armpits. She took a deep breath and plunged to the bottom, sitting on the floor of the pool, staring up through the rippling water at the distorted sky. Everything was utterly silent, which was a rarity for the Marque, for the libraries and corridors still echoed with padded footfalls and hushed voices even in the darkest hours of the night.
Why, wondered Syl, had she not thought to do this before?
• • •
Afterwards, she scuttled dripping to the changing rooms. She was shivering, and had forgotten to fetch her towel—now she remembered that being chilly wasn’t very nice at all.
It was dark beside the lockers. Water pooled around her feet as she fumbled with the lock, flinging the door open to be met with a funk of dampness and unwashed garments. She grabbed her musty towel, but as she did, something unfamiliar slid off it, settling atop the junk at the bottom of her locker. It looked like a small parcel of some sort. Syl bent to retrieve it, turning it over carefully in her fingers. It was an envelope, lightweight, but there was something hard pressing against the parchment, and her name was written in neat, curling script on the front.
Empire: Book 2, The Chronicles of the Invaders (The Chronicles of the Invaders Trilogy) Page 16
