Sister of Shadows, page 13
In contrast to the pool deck, the air inside the mansion raised goosebumps on Jacey’s skin. She rubbed her arms as Silvio led her up a steel staircase made of white planks cantilevered from one frigid wall. No support structure beneath it, no rails.
“Watch your step,” Silvio called over his shoulder. “And definitely take the elevator when you’re drunk.”
The staircase made a ninety-degree turn before coming to the second floor mezzanine. This did have a railing made of taut steel cables stretching between steel uprights. Jacey peered into the main hall below. Its beauty was undeniable, though it made her uneasy. It was a room designed to be seen as a work of art rather than a functional place to live.
“Not exactly your style, is it?” Silvio said, placing his hands on the railing and peering down at the white expanse below. “It isn’t Liz’s either, but she told me she tore down the old villa and put this up to signify her new start. Truth be told, she wants to like this kind of thing, but doesn’t really.”
“Then why keep it this way?”
“Because she’s putting on a big show. And you, my love, are just in time.”
“In time for what?”
Silvio nudged her with his shoulder. “For Liz’s big coming out.” He sucked air through his teeth and shook his head. “I mean for Vin’s big coming out.”
Hearing Vin’s name made Jacey’s skin flush with rage. Vin had been Sarah’s age, and the First of Belle’s Nine. Jacey had known Vin just as long as she’d known Dante. “What do you mean by ‘coming out?’”
Silvio leveled a skeptical gaze on her. “You of all people should know. Vin is announcing her existence to the world. Secret granddaughter of Elizabeth Burnell. Stepping forward into the public eye, et cetera, et cetera. There will be helicopters arriving throughout the day, bringing members of the press and VIP guests to witness the press conference. And then the party, of course.”
“So that’s why you’re here,” Jacey said. She barely paid attention to her own words as she absorbed what Silvio had told her.
Voices sounded below, followed by bubbles of laughter.
Silvio tugged her elbow and guided her away from the balcony. “Come.”
He led her along the mezzanine to a hallway. Windows on the left overlooked the sand garden. Doors stood in ranks to the right.
He stopped at the end of the hall and spoke to a screen next to the door. No avatar of a security AI appeared, but Jacey supposed it was the same sort of system that kept the medical ward locked. The door released and Silvio pushed through.
The room beyond was not nearly as stark as the rest of the house. For one, a red hibiscus-patterned bedspread covered a stilt-legged four-poster bed. Windows filled two entire walls, offering views of the coast and the pool deck. Half-naked people still lounged in chairs. One young woman floated on her back in the pool atop a small inflatable raft of some sort.
Noticing Jacey checking out the walls, Silvio nudged her shoulder. “Since I decided to stay a few months, I had one of the servants paint the walls. I couldn’t bear all the white, white, white.”
The walls were a buttery yellow. Lamps stood on side tables next to the bed, their glass shades as turquoise as the sea. A display monitor hung on one wall, tilted slightly out to face the bed.
“There’s a bathroom in there. Towels. This cabinet has a refrigerator. Have a beer. I’ll be back in a while.”
“Where are you going? I need to speak to Elizabeth immediately.”
“I told you. She’s preparing for a very big event. She doesn’t have time to speak with every guest.”
“But I’m not a guest. I came here uninvited. And I have a favor to ask her. A very important and time-sensitive one.”
Silvio smiled and cupped her shoulders with his hands. His eyes twinkled just as Dante’s had when he’d been up to some mischief. “Don’t worry. You know she’ll be thrilled to have you here. I mean, come on. Jacqueline Buchanan!”
“I have urgent things to discuss and she’ll—”
Silvio clicked his tongue. “Just be patient, my darling. I know a diva like you is not used to waiting, but trust me, you don’t want to be seen here just yet. Now. Make yourself at home.”
He stepped into the hall and closed the door.
26
An Uncanny Creature
As the helicopter descended toward St. Lazarus, Dr. Carlhagen pressed his face to the hatch window and indulged in a moment of pride. Everything he’d accomplished to this point—the current mess notwithstanding—was all prologue to a much larger plan.
Much of his progress toward that goal would occur here in the heart of his new and much improved Scion facility.
He could almost summon a feeling of fondness for the years he’d spent working with Michael—the old business and science partner he’d tricked into uploading into a computer server—but in the grand scheme of things, the invention of True Cloning (as opposed to the zombie-like carbos everyone else was making) and the mind transfer technology had only rewarded Dr. Carlhagen on an financial level.
Dr. Carlhagen’s ambitions were greater than mere money—or even fame. Which is why he hadn’t concerned himself with publishing his discoveries and inventions in scientific journals or politicking for meaningless Nobel Prizes. That making clones was illegal was another factor in his silence, though less important.
Michael had been the first to realize Dr. Carlhagen’s true aims, which was why it had been necessary to upload him to a server, where he could be controlled.
The new phase of the Scion program had begun twelve years earlier. Dr. Carlhagen had recognized that the world’s political leaders were not going to solve the real problems facing the human race, which was hanging onto existence by a thread. Rising sea levels, the Kill-Tine asteroid, nuclear proliferation. The world was tumbling downhill.
What the world needed was one man in charge of it all. Someone who would make the tough choices, decide how scarce resources should be allocated, and cull the Earth of deadweight, noncontributory people.
In short, the world needed a benevolent dictator. But who could do it? Who could consolidate power? Mere military might would not work. Heavens knew how many had tried.
But with the godlike power to bestow immortality, Dr. Carlhagen had the key. Immortality is a wonderful and persuasive gift to offer to politicians in power. Dr. Carlhagen could take his pick of world leaders. He’d started at the top, then worked his way down to people like Senator Bentilius. Along the way, he had picked up celebrities and billionaires as well.
The helicopter circled around the peak of St. Lazarus, a long-dead volcano overgrown with greenery and shrouded in mist. Even now a line of rain clouds blotted half the island. The helicopter flew into them and the window went white.
“What are you looking at?” Livy asked. She’d crept up beside him and was peeking out at the murk. “Oh, it’s your conscience.”
“Are you going to let her speak to you that way?” Senator Bentilius asked.
Dr. Carlhagen hadn’t intended to, but he wasn’t about to snap at the girl on the senator’s command. The urge to grab the old bag and hurl her out of the chopper made his nostrils flare and the window fogged with his breath. “Responding to such little impertinences at all is to reward them, I’ve found.”
Livy giggled and grinned at him. It wasn’t a friendly look, and it chilled him.
What an uncanny creature she is. Like an adult in a child’s body.
The chopper dipped below the cloud ceiling, revealing mist-shrouded treetops. Though he couldn’t see it from this vantage, Dr. Carlhagen knew they were on final approach to the landing field. He’d forbidden any paved landing pads, or any permanent docks, for that matter. The island of St. Lazarus was officially uninhabited, and even the most suspicious spy satellite would uncover nothing to suggest otherwise.
There were many in the North American government who knew better, of course. But they all thought the installation here—carved into the guts of Mt. Lazarus—was part of their own intelligence operation. That was a big part of why Dr. Carlhagen had needed Senator Bentilius in the first place. She’d diverted government funds to the project, hired South American contractors to excavate it, and imported Pakistani and Egyptian construction crews—all undocumented and highly illegal—to build the facility.
That last bunch, some fifteen hundred men, was now entombed in a subterranean cavern of their own making. Regrettable that so many had to die to keep St. Lazarus a secret, but that was the price of saving the human race in the long run.
The chopper slowed to hover above a clearing in the rainforest. The pilot brought them down. The skids came to rest on a broad patch of grass among the trees. One of the guards grabbed the hatch handle and pushed the door open. It unfolded, stairs deploying. The guard climbed down, his weapon up, eyes scanning the tree line.
Dr. Carlhagen urged Livy down the steps, keeping a hand on her shoulder so she didn’t bolt. He turned to study the terrain. He hadn’t been here for a few months and needed to get his bearings.
“Are you going to help me or not, Christof?” Senator Bentilius stood at the top of the steps.
“Have you forgotten that you are barely seventeen years old, my dear? I think you can handle walking down a few steps.”
“I don’t care if I’m young or old, I expect you to mind your manners and hand a lady down from her chopper.”
Dr. Carlhagen took her hand. She descended with slow, graceful steps, a queen making a grand arrival. He barely restrained the urge to throttle her.
The pilot appeared a second later, eyes scanning the tree line. “Are you sure you’ll be okay? The charts say there’s nothing here.”
Dr. Carlhagen waved at the trees. “There’s a cache of supplies nearby. We’ll be fine.”
The pilot shrugged. “Okay. I’m based at the San Juan Skyport, so it’ll take me two hours to return if you need me.”
Dr. Carlhagen was sick of chatting with the man. “Go on, then. We’ll call if we need you.”
“Can I ask why you wanted to come here?” The question was directed to the senator, which made sense. She was his boss, after all.
“No. You may not,” she said.
“You,” Dr. Carlhagen barked, jabbing a finger at the armed guard, “go back with the pilot.”
The man looked to Senator Bentilius. She stepped close to Dr. Carlhagen and pressed her hand to his chest. “Christof, you’re delusional if you think I’m going anywhere with you alone.”
The guard’s face hardened.
“Fine,” he whispered to her. “But you know he can never leave, right?”
“I’m not an idiot, Christof.” Her thin smile chilled him. If he hadn’t felt the warmth of her body, he’d swear she had no blood at all.
Dr. Carlhagen prodded Livy forward, not waiting for Senator Bentilius or her guard. The hidden entrance to the Scion complex lay at the end of a footpath that started somewhere in the trees ahead of him.
The senator keeping her gunman was a stroke of bad luck. He’d have to step very carefully until he could get rid of the man. But no rush. He still needed Senator Bentilius, for now. And if her usefulness wore off, he could do with her as he pleased. Several options occurred to him. He could strangle her with his own hands. He could push her from a cliff, or shoot, stab, or drown her.
All of those options were distasteful when he considered the actual doing of them. But it didn’t matter, because he had one more trick up his sleeve. It was the linchpin behind his greater ambitions for the Scion program. The thing that would give him complete power over every Progenitor.
He called it Protocol One, and even now it was in full effect.
27
Metallic Thump Bonged
The Scions tumbled out of the school bus and onto the dock, each carrying what meager belongings they had, mostly readers and spare clothes. Humphrey raised an arm to help Mother Tyeesha totter down the steps. Her deeply lined face was set with determination, and her claw-like grip on his forearm belied her age. Her four adult staffers followed, carrying the babies. The two- and three-year-olds glommed onto some of the older children.
This was the first time at the docks for most of them. They stared wide-eyed at the boat that would carry them into the wild unknown of the outside world. Five Scions were already on board, having taken the Jeep ahead. They should have assembled the bunks in the cargo holds by now.
Humphrey’s walkie-talkie squawked and Summer’s voice blared through. “Where is my pilot?”
Humphrey yanked the walkie-talkie from his waistband and lifted it to his lips. “He’ll be coming aboard soon. Should he go to the engine room or the bridge?”
Summer swore. “I don’t want him anywhere near my engine room. Take him to the bridge.”
More Scions piled out before Orson finally appeared. His legs wobbled a bit, whether from weakness or fear Humphrey didn’t know, or care. Elias came down after him, making a great show of being dangerous even though just hours before he could barely stand.
“Straight to the bridge,” Humphrey said to Elias. “But don’t let him touch anything.”
Elias prodded Orson with a fist and the man trudged forward. Jacey’s intimidation efforts had transformed him, brought out his meek side.
Elias leaned close to Humphrey as he passed. “It’d be nice to have one of the Senator Bentilius’s guards’ weapons.”
Humphrey shook his head. Sensei had locked up all the firearms and wouldn’t allow anyone to handle them. Said it was just as likely that the Scions would shoot each other by mistake than any attackers.
Sensei was right. If it did come to a confrontation with the Senator’s forces, shooting first would be a huge mistake, since those forces would surely be under orders not to kill Scions unless attacked.
Elias swayed. Humphrey caught his arm and straightened him. “Are you okay?”
Elias nodded, though his pale face contradicted him. He grabbed Orson’s shoulder and steered him toward the boarding ramp near the stern of the ship.
Tytus and Obu came out next, guarding Orson’s two men, Dickie and Rosales. Their hands were bound behind them, and their eyes hammered at Humphrey. “Take them to the top deck. Have them unload the heavy stuff off the bus once the bus is secured.”
“But then we’ll have to untie their hands,” Obu said. He wasn’t as confident a fighter as Tytus, and their combined weight didn’t match Dickie’s alone.
“Find something you can use as a club. If they so much as look at you wrong, give them a whack.”
The boys nodded, though Tytus seemed troubled. Humphrey understood why. Sensei deplored violence, and he’d instilled that into them.
But these men were dangerous, and they had meant to do harm to the Scions. Even so, threatening them bothered Humphrey.
Pedro and Kirk came out, bearing a long white bundle between them. They had fashioned a litter out of branches. The sight of Constantine’s form, even shrouded under a sheet, struck Humphrey like a blow to the throat.
“Find a shady spot on deck. We’ll do it as soon as we get beyond the reefs.”
It was only practical. In the heat, Constantine’s body would soon sour. He didn’t want anyone to remember “Little Vaughan” that way. The boys carried their friend toward the boat. When the other Scions saw them coming, they stepped aside. More than a few paused to wipe their eyes.
Humphrey did the same, then shook himself. There was no time to grieve.
A team of Scions set about preparing the chains and straps to hoist the bus onto the deck. Humphrey had wanted to leave it behind, but Summer had insisted they bring it, arguing that wherever they ended up they would need transportation.
A familiar form stumbled down the bus steps and onto the dock, followed by Sensei, whose massive arms flexed as he clenched and loosened his fists. He’d insisted on guarding Sang himself, after relieving Horace of that duty. Sang was not nearly as strong as Sensei, but Sensei had trained Sang, knew what he was capable of. Nobody knew if Mr. Justin had trained in the martial arts or not, but Sensei wasn’t about to risk it.
“To the left,” Sensei said to Sang. The boy’s uniform was disheveled. His Eagle pin had been torn off, leaving a ragged hole in his Mandarin collar. His left eye was swollen shut where either Horace or Tytus had struck him unconscious.
“Where are you going to put him?” Humphrey asked Sensei.
“There are crew quarters near the infirmary. I’ve had some of the boys remove anything dangerous from one of the rooms. We’ll lock him in there for now.”
“Wait a moment.” Humphrey approached Sang, stood nose to nose with him. Sang refused to meet his gaze. “Where did you put the AI servers?”
Sang merely looked at the pocked concrete of the dock.
“Mr. Justin,” Humphrey said to the boy, “where did you put the AI computer servers? Did you smuggle them aboard somehow?”
Sang lifted his head, slowly bringing his one good eye to bear on Humphrey. “I’m not Mr. Justin.”
Humphrey turned his back on Sang and nodded to Sensei. The martial arts master barked orders, and Sang complied.
Wanda stepped down from the bus, eyes lingering on Sang’s back for a moment. “I’ve been thinking about why Mr. Justin would want to take the servers.”
Humphrey had always liked Wanda, though they’d never had much of a relationship. She’d been too gregarious, or at least that’s what he’d thought all these years. Now he considered her more levelheaded than most, with an intellect as keen as a kitchen knife.
In fact, he’d learned a lot about his fellow Scions he never suspected, the talents that had lain dormant in them, just waiting for an opportunity to blossom.
