Between Burning Worlds

by Jessica Brody

Dr. Collins seemed to find amusement in the question. “That is a perfect example of how they pull us into their wars without our knowledge. Queen Matilda is no more ‘mad’ than you and me. In fact, she has a very brilliant and strategic mind. ‘The Mad Queen’ was a name coined by your Patriarche’s father, Claude Paresse, to reinforce Laterre’s hatred of Albion. We, here, have a similar phrase for your current leader: ‘Lazy Lyon.’ ”

  Gabriel snorted again. “Well, I’m not sure he didn’t earn that one.”

  “What I’m getting at is that our leaders try to make us think that this five-hundred-year-long war has something to do with us, when it doesn’t. It’s a war about ego and titan, fought between despots who have nothing better to do than hold grudges. Sometimes I wonder if they even remember what they’re fighting about.”

  Marcellus looked hopeful. “So do you know what the general is promising the Mad—Queen Matilda in return for this? What is Albion getting out of this alliance?”

  Dr. Collins finished his tea and immediately poured himself a second cup. “I can’t say for sure. But I can make a pretty good guess.”

  “What?” Marcellus asked.

  “What’s the one thing the Queen wants but doesn’t have?”

  Marcellus’s body seemed to sag as the comprehension collapsed on him. “Usonia,” he whispered, sending another chill through Alouette.

  She remembered reading about Usonia in the Chronicles. How it started as one of the original self-governing planets of the System Divine, but then, years later, once titan was discovered under its surface, Albion moved swiftly. They invaded with their giant warships and ruthless guards. They slaughtered thousands of people, waging war on the small planet until it was fully under Albion’s control. It wasn’t until a few years ago that the planet finally fought back.

  “The Patriarche helped Usonia win their war of independence,” Marcellus went on, sounding dazed and full of agony, “and once General Bonnefaçon has control of the Regime, he’s going to help the Queen get Usonia back.”

  “And he’ll have the army to do it,” Dr. Collins said grimly.

  Marcellus jabbed his fingertips into his eyes and let out a hopeless groan.

  “Unless,” Dr. Collins went on with a raise of his eyebrow, “you can stop him.”

  Marcellus threw up his hands. “And how are we supposed to do that? You said so yourself, the program is already complete. Once the general sends out that update, he’ll have the entire Third Estate at his beck and call. He’ll be unstoppable.”

  Suddenly, Alouette remembered the coded message they intercepted from Dr. Collins. The one that sent them here in the first place.

  Weapon nearly complete … I can stop it …

  “You built something,” Alouette blurted out. “To stop the TéléReversion program.”

  Dr. Collins smiled. “I can see now why my daughter spoke so highly of you.”

  Warmth spread over Alouette’s body, allowing her, for just a second, to forget all the horrors in her mind—those two men fighting to the death, Denise and Jacqui being tortured in a cell somewhere, the surface of Bastille littered with the remains of Vangarde operatives—and just remember Denise as she was. As Alouette always wanted to remember her. Hunched over her workbench in the Refuge, peering curiously and intently at the inner workings of some Ministère gadget or device she’d disassembled.

  “She taught me so much,” Alouette whispered.

  “And you’re right,” said Dr. Collins. “I did build something. Ever since I figured out that the general was the one behind this project, I’ve spent every free hour I’ve had here in this safe house, working on a way to stop him. I knew I couldn’t keep Dr. Cromwell from delivering the program, or the general from sending it out to the Skins. The source code is too heavily guarded in the Filbright Wing. So I had to find another way.”

  Dr. Collins walked to a large cabinet with a line of glowing lights around its frame. As he opened its heavy, suction-sealed door, a cloud of icy steam billowed into the air. Donning a metallic glove, he reached inside and pulled out a tiny glass vial from one of the shelves. The faint white liquid inside bubbled and fizzed like it was alive.

  Gabriel took a few cautious steps back. “What is it?”

  “It’s an inhibitor,” said Dr. Collins. Then, upon seeing the blank expression on Gabriel’s face, he clarified. “Think of it like a virus. Once inside the human body, it spreads and multiplies, making the carrier immune to neuroelectrical manipulation.”

  “A blocker,” Alouette said, mesmerized.

  “Precisely,” said Dr. Collins. “The nanotechnology inside this vial essentially blocks the Skins from being able to transmit electricity back to the brain, effectively stopping the general’s ability to trigger neuro-responses.”

  “That’s genius!” Cerise said.

  “Why, thank you.” Dr. Collins smiled at the vial in his hand.

  “Did Denise know about this?” Alouette asked.

  Dr. Collins shook his head. “Not about the inhibitor, no. She knew about the TéléReversion program, and she knew I was working on something to neutralize it, but I didn’t have a breakthrough until about a week ago.”

  “That’s why you sent that last message to Denise,” Alouette confirmed. “So she would come to Albion and bring the inhibitor back to Laterre.”

  “Yes,” he replied. “My idea was for the Vangarde to distribute it into the water supply for the Third Estate. There are eleven water treatment centers on your planet: two in the city of Montfer; one in each of the towns of Delaine, Céleste, Adèle-sur-Mer, Lacrête, and Bûcheron; and four in Vallonay. If you can get one of these vials into each treatment center, the inhibitor will multiply and spread on its own, eventually infecting everyone with a Skin and rendering the TéléReversion program useless.”

  Marcellus stepped forward, looking grateful to have a plan. “We can do that. Are the vials ready now?”

  “They will be by morning,” Dr. Collins said.

  “Um”—Cerise glanced impatiently between Marcellus and Dr. Collins—“are you all forgetting one very important thing? How are we supposed to get back to Laterre? Lady Alexander is still looking for us. I doubt she’s just going to let us board our ship and fly off into the Sol-rise.”

  “Let me handle that,” Dr. Collins said. “I’ve been monitoring my own security profile since we left the lab, and so far, they haven’t revoked any of my clearances. Which means, I don’t think they suspect me of helping you.”

  “So you can get us back into the spaceport?” Cerise confirmed.

  “I will work on a plan,” Dr. Collins assured her. “In the meantime, you all should rest. You’ve had quite the day. There are bedrooms and loos in the back. Make yourself at home.”

  “Loos?” Gabriel repeated.

  “Sorry. Bathrooms.”

  Marcellus and Gabriel disappeared down a hall, presumably to seek out rest, while Cerise ventured into the kitchen for more tea. Dr. Collins sat down in front of one of his glowing screens and immediately seemed to fall into a trance. It reminded Alouette of the way Denise could so easily disappear into her devices. She tried to imagine what Denise might have been like as a child. As this man’s daughter. There were so many questions she longed to ask Dr. Collins about the sister who had helped raise her.

  Nibbling on her biscuit, she glanced around the room, and her gaze eventually landed on a familiar contraption perched on a nearby shelf. It was mounted on a wooden platform with a series of springs, cogs, and intertwined bolts holding up a hinged metal arm that, when in use, tapped down onto a small metal disk. Alouette stepped up closer to the shelf, her lips curving into a knowing smile. It was just like the device Denise had. The very one she had used to teach Alouette the First World code that had led them all here.

  “That’s how my daughter and I have been communicating.”

  Alouette looked up to find Dr. Collins watching her from his desk.

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Collins,” she said, quickly ba
cking away from the shelf. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

  He smiled gently. “You’re no bother. I’m just waiting for some processes to render. And please, call me Edward.”

  “Edward,” she repeated quietly, liking the way the name sounded in his distinguished Albion accent. “I have to say”—Alouette nodded toward the contraption on the shelf—“sending signals through the old Human Conservation Commission space probe was a pretty brilliant idea.”

  Edward stood up and walked over until they were standing shoulder to shoulder, staring at the strange little device. “Thank you. That was all Vaness— Sorry, I forget she goes by Denise now. She found the probe when she was a little girl. She was always fascinated with space. Always listening to the skies. When she discovered that the probe was still transmitting through that old deep-space network from the First World, she figured out how to utilize it. She built this device so she could send me secret messages, using a First World code that she’d discovered. It was a game we used to play. Our own little secret.” He caught Alouette’s eye and tipped his teacup to her in a small salute.

  Another rush of warmth shot through her. That was exactly what Denise had told Alouette when she’d taught her the code. “Our own little secret.” Like she was passing down some ancient family wisdom. And now Alouette realized that she was.

  A far-off look passed over Dr. Collins’s face, as though there was more to the story than he was letting on. “She was always so much smarter than her old dad.”

  “Were you close?” Alouette asked.

  Edward sighed. “We haven’t been for a long time. This … This project is the thing that brought us back together. I haven’t actually seen my daughter in thirty-five years.”

  “Thirty-five years?”

  His eyes dimmed. “Yes. It’s my fault, really. I became too obsessed with my work. And it drove her mother away. She was Laterrian. We met on Kaishi. At the headquarters of the System Alliance. I was representing Albion as a scientific diplomat, and she was there with her father, an ambassador for the former Patriarche.”

  “So she was Second Estate?” Alouette confirmed. The influx of new information was making her dizzy and thirsty for more. It had been so long since she’d studied, read, absorbed. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it. Missed the rush she always felt when she learned something new. It was a rush she thought was only possible inside the Refuge library, under the careful watch and tutelage of the sisters. But here she was, on Albion, far away from everything she’d ever known, and she was experiencing that rush—that curiosity—all over again.

  “Yes,” Dr. Collins replied. “Josephine was Second Estate. She and I fell in love quickly. The way young people do. I convinced her to move to Albion. We had to sneak her in with fake credentials. Vanessa—or, as you know her, Denise—was born less than a year later, and I thought life couldn’t get much better than it was. But then a few years passed, and I was called in on a special research project for the Ministry of Defence. I thought it would last a few months. It ended up lasting years and consuming all my time. I became reclusive and irritable and, in short, impossible to live with. Josephine left. She took our daughter back to Laterre. They moved into Ledôme, and eventually Vanessa signed herself up for the Cyborg Initiation Program, and I stopped hearing from her completely.”

  “Wait, she chose to become a cyborg?” someone asked, and Dr. Collins and Alouette both turned to see Cerise standing behind them. Her face was pulled into a look of utter disgust, as though the idea made her physically ill.

  Edward nodded grimly. “I was furious when I found out. I knew they would only turn her into a heartless slave for the Ministère. They would take away everything that made her my daughter.”

  “But why would she choose to do that to herself?” Cerise asked, and Alouette couldn’t help but feel like her reaction was just the slightest bit extreme. Of all the things they’d learned from this man today, Cerise seemed to be taking this one the hardest.

  “Don’t many people choose to become cyborgs?” Alouette asked.

  Cerise snorted. “Maybe delusional ones.”

  “I have to agree,” Dr. Collins said. “I don’t understand why anyone would choose that life. With Vanessa, her mother died shortly before she signed up for the program, and I’ve always been convinced that she joined as a way to escape her grief.”

  “So then, how did you find out she’d started working with the Vangarde?” Alouette asked.

  “I didn’t until very recently. When she left the Ministère, several years later, and had her circuitries removed, she actually reached out to me. We were, by no means, reconciled at that point. She simply wanted me to know that she was no longer a cyborg, and that was that. She gave me no way to contact her. Then, when I started working on this project for the general, I knew I had to warn someone on Laterre. I found the old space probe signal that she used to send me secret messages when she was a little girl. I didn’t know if she was still monitoring that signal or if she would even get my messages, but I had to try.” He let out a sigh and stared longingly at the contraption on the shelf. His only remaining link to his daughter. “It’s strange that, after all these years, General Bonnefaçon would be the one to bring us back together. And now he has her …” His voice suddenly cracked, and he glanced down at the floor, blinking back mist from his eyes. “My apologies.”

  Alouette’s heart broke for the poor man. She reached out to put a hand on his shoulder but then remembered that Sister Denise didn’t really like being touched. Perhaps her father was the same way. She let her hand drop, and instead, in the most earnest voice she could muster, she said, “Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”

  Of course, Alouette had no idea if her words were true. If they’d ever be able to find Jacqui and Denise. But she knew these were words she had to say aloud. For herself as much as for him.

  - CHAPTER 42 - CHATINE

  “IT’S ACTUALLY BETTER IF YOU chew first, then swallow.” Etienne sat down next to Chatine in the half-empty lodge and began to scoop food from the brimming platters in the center of the table onto his plate.

  Chatine looked up, her mouth crammed full of scrambled eggs. She swallowed and tried not to gag as the partially chewed food pushed its way down her throat. It had been two days since she’d tried to run away, and this morning, her appetite had magically returned. Just like that. She’d woken up with hunger pains deeper and more intense than anything she’d ever experienced in the Frets. Somehow Brigitte must have known, because when Chatine had asked if a tray could be brought into the treatment center for her, Brigitte had said with a curious sparkle in her eye, “How about you join us in the lodge for breakfast?” And that had been the end of it. Chatine often wondered if some of Brigitte’s cyborg circuitry had been accidentally left in, because sometimes the woman seemed nothing short of a mind reader.

  As soon as the food made its way down her throat, Chatine lunged for another bite.

  Etienne laughed. “How are those wood chips?”

  “Fantastique,” Chatine managed to get out, after swallowing and before filling her mouth with a giant bite of what could only be described as crispy baked bread. It was crunchy and buttery and delicious.

  “Glad to hear it.” Etienne finished making up his plate and took a very normal-sized bite of eggs. They were the only two people at the table, but the room was filling up quickly.

  “Wha dih yoo ga ah tha fah?” she tried to ask, but her words were garbled, and bread crumbs sprayed from her mouth as she spoke.

  Etienne raised an eyebrow and made a show of brushing the crumbs from his face. “What was that? Apparently, I don’t speak Hungry Gridder.”

  Chatine swallowed and wiped her mouth with her sleeve before repeating the question. “Where do you get all this food?”

  “We grow it or make it ourselves. The eggs come from hens that we keep in our greenhouse. The bread is made from real wheat that we grow in our indoor fermes. No Ministère-engineered chou b
read here. Everyone at the camp has tasks and assigned duties, but we all work together. We’re completely self-sufficient. Well, except for the zyttrium. That we have to trade for. Hence why you’re here.”

  Chatine took another bite of toast and tilted her head in confusion.

  “The reason we met,” he clarified. “You. Me. The roof of Bastille. My daring rescue mission? Any of this sounding familiar?”

  Chatine swallowed. “Oh. Right.” She was desperate to change the subject. It was bordering far too close to the danger zone. She’d built a fence around that zone in her mind and had made every attempt to steer clear of it. Despite what Brigitte had said, she couldn’t face those monsters. They were too scary. Their eyes too dark. Their teeth too sharp. And if she couldn’t be out there helping find Henri, she certainly wasn’t going to sit around here and think about how she wasn’t out there helping to find Henri.

  “Well, anyway,” Etienne went on, “the zyttrium allows us to live the way we want, but unfortunately a lot of it is required to keep our ships and roofs in good repair so we can stay hidden from the Regime. Which is why we have to trade for it.”

  “What do you trade?” Chatine asked before taking another bite of bread.

  “Mostly our services. You know: rescue missions, stealth deliveries, medical procedures frowned upon by the Regime. Basically, anything people want to do in secret. Usonia was a decent customer for a while. All that drama with Albion. We helped them smuggle a lot of stuff in and out during the war.”

  Chatine nearly choked on her half-chewed mouthful of bread. “You’ve been to Usonia?”

  Etienne beamed. “A few times. Nice place, but I wouldn’t want to live there.”

  “Why not?”

  “Too far from the Sols. Very cold. I’d get claustrophobic in those bubbles.”

  Defensiveness brewed in her gut. She’d spent the last ten years of her life trying to get to Usonia. “It’s not like it’s much warmer here, and what good are the Sols if you can’t see them?”

  Etienne tossed up his hands. “Well, well. Looks like I found another button. What’s that one called? Oversensitive Defense Toggle?”