Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls

by Jane Lindskold

“Into the jaws of Death, into the mouth of hell, rode the six hundred,” I say.

  “Six hundred? We’re not six hundred.” Then understanding awakens on Abalone’s face. “Oh, you mean that we should take the fight to them.”

  I nod. “But be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ’em.”

  “Oh, my,” Professor Isabella says. “Yet, this may be the way to end this madness, a strike into their black hearts.”

  “Black?” Margarita shakes her head. “No, señora. There’s nothing as clean as blackness in their hearts. They’re a messed-up swirling of all the colors of banknotes; the power at their heart is only what they can buy.”

  “We have no idea where they are or what defenses they might have or anything at all,” Abalone says, but from how she toys with her pipestem I can see that she is merely listing research points, not admitting defeat.

  “Some of this I may be able to give you,” Margarita says after a thoughtful pause.

  “No, we cannot expect you to risk your job,” Professor Isabella says. “You have already given us a warning.”

  “She,” Margarita says, touching my arm, “gave me my life. I want to do this thing and give her a chance to have her own.”

  I smile. “Amiga, gracias.”

  “Well.” Abalone rises. “As Sarah would say, ‘If it were done ’tis best it is done quickly.’”

  “Isn’t that from Macbeth?” Professor Isabella asks with a wry smile.

  “Maybe once, but it’s Sarah’s now.” Abalone turns to Margarita. “Are you free tonight?”

  “And tomorrow,” she replies. “I am visiting my sister and little niece and they will cover for me if anyone asks questions.”

  “Good,” Abalone says. “Let’s go to one of my safe houses and start planning. Best to bring this to Head Wolf as a reasoned-through plan rather than asking for support without an idea of what we’ll need.”

  I nod agreement, but as I trail them to the hotel room, I resolve that support or no support, I will carry this through.

  The conference proceeds smoothly—I realize that we are becoming something of old hands at this and that Ailanthus owes itself for our training. Margarita rattles off information which Abalone files. I know my Baloo well enough to realize that nothing will be taken on faith, but she has sense enough not to start cross-checking in front of our guest.

  “Now, we’ve decided that you want the building where Dr. Aldrich has been set up. It will do you good—he stays there and does his work there and keeps his records there. The impression I got is that he is under sort of house arrest, maybe because he lost Sarah,” Margarita says. “Not so good is that he is there because the building is in a well-guarded complex. There are a whole lotta sensors—heat and motion and plain old video. Human guards roam the place and some of them have dogs.”

  “Ouch,” Abalone says, wrapping a fiery lock around her index finger. “Not very hopeful—rules out any frontal assault.”

  “Well, there is a bright spot,” Margarita says. “The big shots, they don’t want to have to deal with all that every time they come to work, so there is a way in that all you need are pass codes and prints for fingers, eyes, and voice. Then you take a capsule trolley to whatever building you want and never cross the grounds.”

  “I may be able to do something about prints,” Abalone says slowly. “Can you get us the codes?”

  “They’re changed on an erratic schedule,” Margarita says. “You couldn’t count on what I got for you being right. Sometimes they change every week, other times every couple of days, sometimes every couple of hours. The Security Chief didn’t want to set up this entrance at all, so he’s a bastard about avoiding patterns that could make it easier to get in.”

  “Clever,” Professor Isabella says, looking up from the volume of Sun-tzu that she’s been reading.

  “We may have to blow the doors,” Abalone growls, “and that means giving up any chance of getting in unnoticed.”

  Margarita looks surprised. “Hey, aren’t you forgetting Sarah?”

  Abalone tilts her head in puzzlement. “Sarah? She can’t read or even tell left from right all of the time.”

  “Yeah, but things talk to her. She’s the sweetest little codebreaker in the world.” Margarita wags a finger. “What you think they were using her for or why they so hot to get her back?”

  “I…I didn’t think,” Abalone admits. “I knew, but I didn’t think. I’m so used to looking out for her that I forgot what she can do.”

  Betwixt and Between blow her a Bronx cheer—in duet, but I am content to look smug. Then uncertainty seizes me. What if I can’t do it? What if the lock is impersonal or has nothing to tell me?

  Tentatively, I stretch my senses in a way I have not since Betwixt and Between first mentioned Dylan in my presence, but now there is a difference. Then I was not aware of my talent; now I know of it and to some extent have trained it. Within me, I turn a dial, move an imaginary volume control.

  First, I hear only Betwixt and Between squabbling amiably with each other over some oatmeal cookie crumbs. Athena is asleep with her head beneath her wing and I can hear the rise and fall of her breath.

  Turning up the imaginary volume, I hear Abalone’s tappety-tap coaching her through a data heist. Louder still and Sun-tzu’s words rise from the tattered book that Professor Isabella drowses over. Margarita’s uniform giggles with pleasure over the kevlar threads in the apparently soft weave and her concealed sidearm announces its patient presence, as does the wicked tempered stiletto in her boot top.

  Gleefully, I wrap my arms about my knees and rock back and forth. Soon. Soon we will go after those who have been hounding me and mine. I lick my lips and anticipate the battle.

  Eighteen

  WHEN WE MOVE, WE MOVE BY NIGHT AS THE CODE OF THE Free People demands. This, however, is also best for our situation. We have decided that a very simple infiltration is best. Once inside the Ailanthus complex we have three objectives.

  First, we will find and destroy Dr. Aldrich’s research material. Professor Isabella assures us that a scholar trained in the competitive realms of science and academics will not have published all of his work. In fact, he would probably have published only the least significant elements. Once he had backing, he would have published little. To share his discoveries would only have reduced his opportunities to benefit from them.

  Our second goal is similar to the first. We will destroy any experiments or materials he has accumulated. Thirdly, we—or rather Abalone—will wipe the computers of any pertinent information relating to me and my abilities and then insert a virus that is tailored to contaminate any new efforts.

  These are our basic plans, but Abalone has one other, one that she has not discussed. She plans to ruin Ailanthus financially, by stealing what of their funds she can access easily and then inserting rumors about their financial security into the electronic marketplace. Some creditors will be certain to call in debts and when Ailanthus learns that it lacks the funds to pay and tries to call in debts of its own, it will fuel the panic. Her tappety-tap shares her confidence that the company will not survive twenty-four hours.

  It’s okay with me that she keeps her secret, though, because I have one, too. I plan to kill Dr. Aldrich.

  This isn’t just vengeance—although I know that the Free People will see it as such and that Head Wolf will exonerate me as one who was killing to pay a blood debt. No, simply, I realize that Jersey’s warning about Dr. Aldrich is true. The man is responsible for the deaths of my brother and sister and perhaps for those of my parents as well. Yet, he felt as little over these deaths as another researcher might over the deaths of as many lab rats. His death is the only thing that will stop him and I plan to give him that death.

  Despite the many things we hope to achieve, our plan for gaining entrance is simple. The Ailanthus compound has self-contained power, so we cannot simply disrupt their operations from outside. Therefo
re, we will go in as if we belong. Margarita has assured us that we don’t need to worry about being strangers. A suit is a suit to the guards and as long as we move purposefully and don’t trip any alarms, we should pass.

  Once inside, we should be relatively unchecked and hope to do our jobs and escape.

  Now, as the sleek sedan hums Abalone, Professor Isabella, Midline, and me to our goal, I concentrate on testing my “volume” control in preparation for the challenges to come. I have been practicing in the time since Margarita’s warning and now I can tune out the emotions of my companions and focus on the near-inaudible voices within the sedan itself.

  Concealed in my sleek executive’s briefcase, Betwixt and Between grumble about the lack of a window. From Professor Isabella’s purse, Athena readies herself for what will certainly be her most dangerous flight.

  “We should be there soon,” Professor Isabella says, pulling back the sleeve of her dove grey suit to check her watch.

  “Then we will,” Midline assures her.

  His business suit makes him look more ferocious rather than tamed, the perfect image of an Ailanthus executive. The sweet lines of its tailoring snigger over the weapons they conceal. Even his golden skin job fits with the image of decadent sophistication. Abalone and I are dressed in a similar fashion with briefcases to hold our tools. Peep is our chauffeur, natty in a navy blue uniform and matching cap.

  “Outside checkpoint coming,” Peep announces, his eyes busy with radar screens and sensors. “Looks like only one human guard.”

  “Stay icy,” Abalone reminds him, “and don’t even speak with him. Margarita says that the executives usually let themselves in, despite the warmbodies at the gate.”

  “I remember,” Peep says, flourishing the scanner card, “and here’s our invite.”

  We are all holding our breaths as Peep inserts the card into the scanner, but Abalone’s forgery gets us through with barely a glance from the guard. He is so intent on his monitors that I am certain we are forgotten a minute after we pass.

  Within the walls, Ailanthus has built a small city. Professor Isabella sighs when she sees the buildings and I do not need to question why. Here are all the technological advances that the city outside the walls lacks. The glass-and-steel buildings are interwoven with solar grids to capture cheap power, decorative ponds serve as emergency reservoirs, the trolley capsules run on superconductors to race the people from building to building with a minimum of delay. The grounds are elegantly manicured to soothe and inspire without distracting.

  I can feel her envy, but do not let myself be distracted. Peep is steering us into the parking field near to a trolley terminus. No one drives within the compound and Dr. Aldrich’s building is too far for us to reach without running afoul of guards and dogs. Here will be my first challenge and my heart races as the car stops and Abalone motions for me to get out.

  Abalone has fitted her eyes with contacts and her fingertips with false prints to fool those scanners. A track to fool the voice scanner has been easily obtained, but Margarita could do no more. My job will be to find the code that voice must speak.

  The trolley station provides sufficient cover as I press my ear to the doorway. Abalone’s breathing is nervously loud, but louder still is the grumbly voice of an executive reading from his latest security memo.

  I listen carefully and then recite softly into the tappety-tap. “Aloe, geranium, clematis, iris, lily.” Abalone strokes a key and the voice synthesizer repeats confidently. “Aloe, geranium, clematis, iris, lily.”

  The trolley door slides open and Midline and Professor Isabella hurry to join us. We are rushed, but I do not miss the admiring looks they spare me.

  Peep immediately drifts the sedan over to parking, where he will conceal himself and await our return.

  When the trolley door slides shut, a flat but pleasant voice asks, “Destination?”

  Finger to her lips, Abalone keys her tappety-tap. “Aldrich’s Lab” it informs the trolley importantly.

  Unquestioning, even to my hearing, the trolley capsule glides forward. The ride is nearly without the sensation of movement, even when we go around curves, and is so swift that we do not have time to wonder about the lack of seats before the pleasant voice announces, “Aldrich’s Lab.”

  We step out and I kneel before the code pad. I barely need to listen before Dr. Aldrich’s clipped tones snap, “What nonsense!” I jump, realize that I am not hearing him, but merely a memory of him imprinted on the area and listen again. “What nonsense!” the doorway obligingly repeats, but nothing follows.

  Hesitantly, I say to the tappety-tap, “What nonsense!”

  Abalone stares at me and then, with a faith I don’t feel is merited, signals the tappety-tap to repeat. “What nonsense!” in the synthesized voice. At the words, the door slides open and I step in, my knees almost too weak to carry me.

  Yet, once the door has shut behind us, I am needed again. Professor Isabella hands Athena to me and I send the little owl looking for security systems. From what Margarita had told us, the regions closest to the ceiling should be safe, since all of the detectors are set to look down for human-sized targets.

  The owl returns and rests on my outstretched wrist.

  “Humming eyes,” she reports. “Two and then two again. Then no more.”

  Abalone has prepared for this. When I tap my eyes in our agreed upon signal for cameras and then make the sign for “nothing else” she fishes out her tools. Even before she has them in hand, I have found the concealed service panel and begin to work it free. While I do so, I am aware of Midline, weapon in hand, frozen into a watchful readiness.

  The section of the wall comes free in my hands and Abalone reaches inside. The tiny light she wears on one finger like a ring illuminates only her work space. Still, almost as if I can see her face, I feel her astonishment at my initiative.

  I smile. My dear Baloo, I went to the same hard schools as you. Did you think that I would learn nothing?

  Once she has carefully inserted the chip that will fool the cameras into seeing only a dark corridor, she replaces the panels. Margarita has assured us that no human guard is ever posted in Aldrich’s labs at the doctor’s own request. Security had consented because his building was so deep inside the complex and “because Aldrich is such a nasty bastard under all that highbrow pose.”

  Abalone gives thumbs-up to the others and a squeeze on the shoulder to me. Then she flourishes something she has removed from within the work cubby—a floor plan so simple that even I can grasp it.

  “This plan matches what Margarita got for us pretty closely,” she whispers. “Aldrich’s quarters are there. His labs are here. We’ll be able to work in there undisturbed if we’re quiet.”

  Midline swats her gently. “We know the plan and I’ll cover the hall. Now, go!”

  “Right.”

  Even in the dim-lit hall, I can feel Abalone blush.

  Leaving Midline lounging against a wall in the corridor, Abalone and I let ourselves into the labs. As planned, Professor Isabella and Abalone awaken the computers and begin to scan and destroy data. My job is simpler; I am simply to collect any paper I find and stack it by a shredder that Professor Isabella has removed from her briefcase.

  “I’ve got a secure outside line,” Abalone announces softly, the first voice in many minutes, “and I’m going to start removing any knowledge of Sarah from the files and planting my virus. How are you doing with Aldrich’s research stuff, Professor?”

  She gives her head a birdlike tilt. “No trouble, but I am finding some very frightening things. There is no doubt that Aldrich was continuing his work. There’s a great deal of new material about negative recessives and reinforcing traits interworked with material about memory, empathy, and magical thinking.”

  “Bastard,” Abalone hisses, most of her attention on her own work. “I’m glad Ailanthus forced us to move now.”

  I roam between clean white counters and listen to the strange songs of the d
evices that stand regimented along them. Something in their songs makes me pay attention to one wall and, turning to examine it, I hear soft tittering.

  From where I hold them, Betwixt and Between answer without my asking, “It wasn’t us, Sarah. It was the wall.”

  I turn to examine the wall, noticing for the first time that it is the only one not cluttered with shelves or heavy gear. The few carts drawn up in front of it could be easily moved. Doing so, I listen again and quickly find the concealed release. There is no sign of alarms, so I palm it, just as Professor Isabella notices what I am doing.

  “Sarah?”

  I ignore her and, when the opening is large enough to admit me, slip through.

  My motion brings up soft lighting illuminating a small, sparsely furnished chamber. A low dresser, a cabinet, and a box of transparent plastic are the only things the room holds, but what the box holds makes my throat tighten with rage.

  A nude baby boy, no more than a year old, is slowly awakening in the box. His eyes are green, tinged with infant blue, and his hair is a shade more golden than my own. I don’t need to be able to read the listing on the box to know that this child is a member of my family.

  Putting Betwixt and Between on the dresser where they can watch, I start flipping the fastenings on the box. The baby shows no interest in what I am doing and my rage grows with his indifference.

  “Dear God! A baby!”

  Behind me, Professor Isabella’s voice rises in shock, but the soundproofed walls of the little room swallow the sound.

  I nod, my attention still on the baby. When I move to lift it, she hurries over, sniffing the air suspiciously.

  “Let me, Sarah. You need to support his head and cradle his body like so.”

  She demonstrates and I nod curtly. There is more rage in me than I knew was possible, but I struggle to conceal it.

  Abalone comes to join us a few minutes later and freezes in the doorway when she sees my discovery.

  “Who?” she squeaks.

  Professor Isabella, now efficiently diapering the boy, actually has an answer.