Conquest

  The plan, as far as it went, revolved around something that Syl had never noticed until Meia pointed it out to her: Syl looked a little like Vena. Not a lot, and certainly not enough to fool a guard who wasn’t blind, but they were similar in height and in the way that they carried themselves, even in the shape of their faces, the shrewdness of their features. It caused Syl to wonder if that was one of the reasons why Vena seemed to hate her so much, for there was no doubt that the Securitat despised her. The Securitats were bad news anyway; they were the Illyri secret police, but since they were under the control of the Corps, they would seize any opportunity to hurt members of the Military or their families. As the daughter of Lord Andrus, Syl was a particular target for Vena’s venom. She thinks I’m a privileged little bitch, thought Syl, my father’s pride and joy, the one who can do no wrong, the oldest of those who had come to be known as the Firstborn. Vena looks at me, and she sees herself as she might have been, as she should be. Well, let her think it, for all the good it will do her.

  Perhaps it was that defiant streak, as much as her desire to save the lives of the two young men, which spurred her on so recklessly. Anyway, what choice was there? It wasn’t as if Syl had any better suggestions. She was sixteen years old—born among the stars, settled on a strange world, raised among a hostile, sometimes murderous alien race—but so far she had not tried to break anyone out of jail.

  However, the success of the plan lay not with her, but with Ani, and Ani’s fledgling abilities.

  “I don’t know that I can do it,” Ani said to Meia, as the spy took two Securitat uniforms from the back of her closet and laid them on her bed. Each had a Securitat cape with it too, hooded against the cold northern weather.

  “You’d better be able to do it,” said Meia. “If you can’t, you and your friend may end up on the gallows with the humans.”

  Ani looked pleadingly at Syl. She did not want to do this.

  “I trust you,” said Syl, with more confidence than she felt. “I know you won’t let anything happen to us. Right?”

  Ani put her face in her hands. “I think I want to die,” she said, her voice muffled by her fingers.

  Meia patted her on the back.

  “If you fail,” she said, “that can be arranged.”

  With Ani’s help, Syl tied her thick, glossy hair tightly back, and Meia smeared her hairline with a flesh-colored cream, plastering down any wisps, before daubing silver at the edge of her cheekbone. She handed her a slim hairgrip to secure the hood in place.

  “I can’t imagine that even Ani could keep them fooled if they saw all that damn hair,” Meia said, looking critically at their attempt to hide it. “Whatever happens, keep it under wraps.”

  •••

  The two humans were being held in the old vaults of the castle. Built in the fifteenth century on the rock at the castle’s south side, they had been used at various points as stores, barracks, an arsenal and, as was now the case, a prison. They were dank and unpleasant, the cells secured with electronic locks that could be opened only with swipe keys or directly from a panel in a nearby control room. At the moment the boys were the only prisoners being kept there, and were being guarded not by Galateans, who were usually given these dull jobs, but by Securitats. Four of them lined the corridor where Paul and Steven were being held, and two more were stationed in the control room. Cameras also monitored the cells, inside and out.

  At precisely 9:00 p.m., the door to the control room opened from outside and then almost immediately closed again. The Securitats turned just in time to see a gas grenade roll across the floor toward them. Within seconds, they were unconscious.

  Meia entered, a cloak over her head but her face unmasked, seemingly unaffected by the fumes. She immediately adjusted all the cameras in the vicinity of the cells so that they ceased recording, then quickly reprogrammed the nonessential screens to give her clear views of the area in front of the New Barracks, the old Military Jail, Foog’s Gate, and St. Margaret’s Chapel, as well as the approaches to the vaults from the Great Hall and the old Royal Palace. She would now have some notice, however short, if anyone came their way, but Syl and Ani would still need to work fast. Gas grenades would have been simpler, but Meia couldn’t be sure they would have rendered all of the guards unconscious before one of them had the chance to raise the alarm.

  She checked her watch. Five seconds.

  Four.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  Two black-clad figures appeared on one of the screens.

  It was beginning.

  •••

  The uniforms didn’t fit quite as well as they might have, and Syl’s had a bloodstain on the left side, along with what looked like a repair necessitated by the insertion of a blade. Syl didn’t want to think about how, or where, Meia had acquired it. She was starting to think that Meia was a lot more manipulative, and certainly more dangerous, than she had previously given her credit for.

  They passed the control room and entered the vaults, pausing just before they turned into the main corridor of cells. A camera watched them from above. Ani stared back at it for a moment, then gave it, and Meia, the finger.

  “She won’t like that,” whispered Syl.

  “I don’t care. It made me feel better.”

  Syl thought about it, then gave the finger to the camera as well. She wanted Paul and Steven freed, but she still didn’t appreciate being exploited by Meia.

  “You’re right,” she said. “That did make me feel better.”

  “Are you ready?” said Ani.

  Syl nodded. “Are you ready?”

  Ani let out a deep breath. Her whole body relaxed. When she looked at Syl, her eyes were bright yet distant, like a noonday sun glimpsed through haze.

  “Yes,” she said. “I am ready.”

  •••

  The first pair of Securitats stood to attention as they saw the uniformed figures approach, but both looked confused. One of them opened his mouth as if to say something, his hand straying toward the pulser at his belt.

  “I—we—” he said. “We weren’t expecting you, ma’am.”

  His eyes flickered from Syl’s face to the silver near her temple, but he seemed to be having trouble focusing. He used the back of his hand to wipe his eyes, and when he had done so, he appeared more certain of what he was seeing.

  “We’re here to take the prisoners to the Grand Consul,” said Syl. Beside her, Ani stayed completely silent, and Syl could almost feel the intensity of her concentration as she tried to fix the faces of Vena and one of her female sergeants, Grise, in the minds of the men before her.

  “We received no notice,” said the guard. “Our instructions were to allow no contact with the prisoners until the morning.”

  “And whose instructions were those?” said Syl, putting on her most imperious voice.

  “Well, yours, ma’am, and the Grand Consul’s.”

  She looked from one guard to the other, waiting. They faltered. One of them narrowed his eyes, like a man used to glasses who suddenly finds himself trying to see without them. Damn it, thought Syl, just go along with us. Please.

  “The Grand Consul wishes to speak with the prisoners,” she said. “Would you like me to go back and explain to him why this doesn’t meet with your approval, or perhaps you’d prefer to do so yourself?”

  Clearly neither option appealed to the guards. They set aside any doubts and led Syl and Ani to the cells, where two more guards waited. This was the hard part, for Ani now had to try to fog the minds of four individuals. Syl risked a glance at her. Ani’s face was set in concentration. Small beads of sweat were visible on her forehead and upper lip, and Syl could see that her jaws were clenched tightly shut.

  Now the second pair of guards stepped forward, and Syl instinctively lowered her head slightly as though that might help with
the impersonation. She disguised the movement with a flick of her chin at the cell doors.

  “Open them,” she said, and when the cell guards again seemed reluctant to do so, their faces betraying some confusion, a kind of disjunction between what they were seeing and what they thought they saw, she added, “Quickly!” snarling it more than saying it.

  This gave the guards the push they required. They were used to following orders—the simpler the better. It was easier to follow orders than to think about why you shouldn’t. That was the whole principle on which armies were founded. Without it, they would have fallen to pieces.

  The cell doors were swiped open, revealing Paul and Steven in their respective cells, each lying on his side, but neither of them sleeping.

  “Up!” said Syl. “You’re coming with us.”

  Paul raised himself to a sitting position. He frowned, and Syl could almost hear the mechanisms of his brain grinding as some spark of recognition took fire there. She willed him to say nothing, and then fell back on the same voice she had used on the guards.

  “Now!”

  Both young men rose and shuffled to the cell doors. The guards stepped back and drew their pulsers, ready for any trickery, but the young men presented no real threat. They looked tired and frightened. One of the guards put a pair of magnetic cuffs on each of the boys, and handed the control unit to Syl.

  “Should we accompany you?” asked the first guard.

  “No,” said Syl. “They’re secured, and we’ll have no trouble from them. Soon,” she added, “they’ll be no trouble to anyone ever again.”

  The guard laughed, and the others joined in, but their laughter was nervous and uncertain. Beside her, Ani trembled with the effort of holding off the reality of their appearances. A tiny trickle of blood appeared from her right nostril and rolled down to her mouth. She turned from the guards before they could see it, and Syl motioned the boys to move ahead of her with the stun baton that Meia had given her.

  They tried to walk out of the vaults slowly. It was all Syl could do not to sprint, yet even in the midst of her fear, she had never felt so alive.

  They had done it. Somehow, they had done it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  I

  f Syl could not quite believe that they had managed to get the prisoners out of their cells, Meia was more surprised still. She had resigned herself to having to rescue the young Illyri from the guards if necessary; the result would have been bloodshed, and even Meia preferred not to kill Securitats within the castle walls. On those occasions when she had been forced to target Securitats, and then only—or mostly—to protect herself, she had done so discreetly, and the bodies had never been found.

  She had monitored the progress of Syl and Ani while keeping one hand on the handle of the control room door, ready to spring to their aid if—or when—everything went to pieces. Instead, she now watched as they escorted the humans, still manacled, out of the Vaults and toward the castle walls, where the next step of the plan would be enacted.

  One of the unconscious guards at her feet moaned, and clawed at the floor. Meia removed a second grenade from the folds of her cloak. The last thing they needed now was for the guards to wake and raise the alarm. She pulled the pin and tossed the grenade with an underarm throw. Just as the gas began to fill the room, she saw three figures appear on one of the screens before her, heading for the Vaults.

  Even through the fumes, she recognized Vena.

  •••

  Syl led their little group onward, through passageways, corridors, and galleries, some foul-smelling, some damp-walled and mossy, twisting and turning down into the tunnels carved from the volcanic rock on which the castle had been built so many years before. These areas were vaguely familiar to her; she had explored them as a child, before they were returned to use as cells, but she had little memory of them. Without the instructions that Meia had drummed into her, she would have been entirely lost.

  She looked back. Ani was struggling to keep up. The bleeding from her nose had stopped, but blood was still smeared across her left cheek and her chin. Her eyes were glassy, and she was supporting herself against the wall. Syl stopped to give her time to catch up. She noticed that Steven wasn’t doing much better than Ani. Whatever the Corps had done to him physically was bad enough, but they had damaged something inside him as well. He might have believed himself to be big and strong like his older brother, but he was still more child than man. He was keeping himself going through sheer force of will, but Syl could tell that he wasn’t far from crying for his mother.

  “Hey,” Syl said quietly to Ani. “Are you able to continue?”

  Ani nodded. “I’m just tired. Very tired.”

  “We’re nearly there,” said Syl. She touched a hand to Ani’s cheek. “We can’t stop now.”

  “You’re the one who stopped, Syl,” said Ani.

  “For you.”

  “You say.”

  This was the Ani that Syl knew and loved.

  “Oh Ani, you did so well—”

  “I knew it!” interrupted Paul loudly. “Sylvia! I recognize you now. You’re not human, you’re Illyri! I guessed as much. I should have known it back on the Mile.”

  Syl looked at him, a million thoughts going through her head yet not a single word able to form in her mouth. He was staring at her, his eyes narrowed, his pupils flitting over her exposed face, frowning as he took in the smear of silver, the strange paste on her hairline, and then he was staring into the golden-red orbs that were her eyes, lidless and alien.

  “Holy crap,” whispered Steven.

  “It took me a while,” said Paul, nodding slowly, “because your glasses covered your eyes when we first met, and then this uniform threw me too, but it was you, you and your friend here, on the Royal Mile. I thought you were human—a bit weird, yes, but at least human. Man, was I mistaken.”

  “I guess you were. I bet you’re sorry you helped us now.”

  She looked back at him defiantly, at the so-very-human eyes in their bruised sockets, at the bloodied lips she’d focused on so intently only the day before. She watched him blink, and wondered at what that was like, at not being able to see for a split second. There was a long moment before Paul replied.

  “No,” he said at last, and his voice caught in a way that made Syl’s cheeks burn. “I’m not. Look, forgive me if I’m wrong, but is this a rescue?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Oh good. I was hoping it might be. Any chance you could take these cuffs off then, Sylvia?”

  “Sorry,” said Syl, “and my name’s actually Syl.”

  He raised his eyebrows at her as if it didn’t matter, and looked pointedly at his bound hands once again. Syl activated the unit, and the cuffs demagnetized and dropped off. Paul rubbed his wrists and winced. The magnacuffs had a tendency to heat up after only a few minutes.

  “About time. I wish you’d done that a bit earlier, Syl.”

  “You’re quite critical for someone who was hours away from being hanged,” said Syl. “Would you like to go back to your cell and come up with a better plan of your own?”

  “Actually, no, I wouldn’t.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “So where are we going?”

  “Out.”

  “We seem to be taking the long way.”

  “We’re taking the safe way,” said Syl. “I hope.”

  “Okay then. I guess we’ll just have to trust you.”

  “Right. Any more questions or comments, or shall we get moving?”

  “Well, just one thing.”

  Syl sighed. She wondered if all rescuers had to put up with this sort of criticism.

  “What is it?”

  “Thank you,” said Paul. “On behalf of both of us, just thank you.”

  Syl was thrown.

  “You’re welco
me,” she said, and blushed again. “We’re only returning the favor, though.”

  He ignored her glibness.

  “You know, after you left, I rather hoped I’d see you again, and without your damned glasses.”

  “But now you know I’m Illyri.”

  “Yeah. But at least you don’t have a squint.”

  He smiled, and she found herself smiling back, unable to help herself. They stared at each other, and might have gone on staring were it not for a cough in the background.

  “I don’t mean to spoil a lovely moment,” said Ani, “but I really would like to get this over and done with, please.”

  •••

  Not all the cells in the castle were occupied, or, indeed, locked. The stonework in some was in a state of disrepair, while others were used for storage and, on occasion, as sleeping quarters for guards pulling double duty. It was from the darkness of one such cell, furnished only with a pillow and a mattress, that Meia watched Vena pass, accompanied by two of her acolytes. She guessed it was a routine prisoner check, or perhaps the beginning of another spell of interrogation. Either way, she cursed the female Securitat and all her works. Damn her, why couldn’t she just have put her feet up, basking in her success in capturing the humans and looking forward to the executions to come?

  Meia waited until the three Securitats had turned the corner. She had no more grenades, although she did have her blast pistol. But it was one thing knocking Securitats unconscious in order to free prisoners, or quietly “disappearing” them if they happened to look the wrong way at an inconvenient time; quite another to kill Sedulus’s vicious little pet, however much personal satisfaction the act might bring her. There would be trouble enough once the escape was discovered without adding high-profile bodies to the mix.