Sister of Shadows, page 24
Dante took Jacey’s shoulders in his hand. “Please tell me you have something on under those hideous coveralls.”
“I do.” She unzipped and stepped out of the garment, put it on the bench. She tossed the cap next to it, but kept the shaded spectacles.
“Who did this?”
“I’ll give you one guess.”
Dante ran his tongue over his teeth, making his lips bulge as he considered. But it only took a moment. “Ping.” He said it without putting a question in it. “Come along. We’ll get you back inside.”
“What about my face?”
“The bruise helps, actually.”
Jacey barely refrained from kicking Dante’s shin. “This is no time for insults.”
“That’s not how I meant it. But you are much less recognizable with all that swelling.” He scooped up a handful of sand. “Do you suppose you inherited any of Jackie’s talent for acting?”
“Why?”
“Because you were very drunk and you fell.” He threw the sand at her, covering the white linen with dust. He eyed his handiwork with a critical eye. Satisfied, he said, “Pull your hair over your face, honey.”
She understood what he wanted, but she didn’t like it. But “liking it” was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She tousled her hair so it hung about her face in crazy tangles.
Taking her by the arm, Dante led her out of the sand garden and into the blazing sunlight of the pool deck. “Stagger, Jacey. Stagger like your life depended on it.”
“Bud I’m nod drunkh. I jis hadda lil bid.”
Dante gave her arm a squeeze. “Very nice. Very nice.”
49
Stay With Me
Humphrey didn’t know how long he and Sang lay in the school bus. Perhaps five minutes, maybe fifteen. It felt like an hour. It had been a while since he’d last heard soldiers tromping about outside the bus.
They’d watched the helicopter orbit around Aphrodite the whole time.
He risked lifting his head enough to peek through a window. The starboard side was clear.
Sang checked the port-side. He ducked down. “There’s no one out there.”
Humphrey doubted the soldiers had left the boat entirely, because they hadn’t searched the bus. Which was precisely why he didn’t want to risk staying there. Moving had its own risks, but he was certain they’d be safer hiding in a part of the ship that had already been searched.
He waited until the helicopter passed behind the bridge tower.
He crept to the rear door, and gripped the latch handle. Gritting his teeth and holding his breath, he slid it up. The door clunked, then swung out a few centimeters, hinge shrieking.
Sang hissed. “Careful!”
Humphrey held the door so it wouldn’t move further. Still not breathing, but heart pounding like a kettledrum, he listened to see if the squeak had alerted any soldiers.
The only sound that came to him was the sound of the boat cutting through the waves and a metallic clank. It sounded like a clamp or hook on a bit of rope rapping on a pole, probably from the wind.
A momentary lull brought the faint rumble of the helicopter.
Humphrey eased the door open a few more inches and peered out. “We need to get to the engine room,” he told Sang. “It has the best hiding spot.”
“I don’t even know where that is.”
“Just stay with me.”
Humphrey knew that if he didn’t move soon, he’d freeze with fear. Blocking the feeling from his thoughts, he swung the door further open and slipped out.
He dropped into a crouch behind the bus. Sang dropped next to him and they pushed the door quietly shut.
Humphrey was facing aft, but the bridge tower stood between him and the rear of the ship. He felt very exposed. If any of the soldiers were on the bridge and they happened to look down, they would spot him in a second.
He darted to the left where the Jeep was lashed to the deck. Sang slipped behind him, breath heaving. Humphrey crept behind the Jeep to put the mass of the vehicle between him and the bridge tower.
Ten meters of open deck separated him from the starboard rail. Just aft of his position, a narrow walkway ran between the bridge tower and the rail, leading to the stern. A metal stairway zigzagged up the side of the conning tower, leading to the wing platform just off the bridge.
Humphrey was half-tempted to climb it. If he had any confidence that the soldiers weren’t up there, he would have gone up there immediately to keep an eye on Orson.
He had no such confidence. Any boarding party would surely secure the bridge and question the captain.
Just under the stairway was a door leading inside. That would take him to the central staircase. Since the soldiers were probably searching the cargo hold, he decided to risk going in.
He crossed the ten meters with a burst of speed. Frantically, he gripped the door latch and swung it open. Inside he was met by the tromp of boots coming down the stairs from the bridge.
Humphrey retreated, bumping into Sang so hard the boy fell on his butt.
Humphrey cast about, scanning for a place to hide.
“There!” He grabbed Sang’s elbow and hefted him to his feet, then half-dragged the boy with him. Their momentum slammed them into the hiding spot.
A lifeboat. Four meters long, hull painted a flakey orange, it rested on davits that would swing the boat over the water. A pulley system could lower it to the surface. Protective canvas was stretched over the top, presumably to keep rainwater out.
Humphrey unsnapped a section of the canvas and squirmed in headfirst. He hoped the soldiers wouldn’t notice that the canvas was loose on one side. He held it open to allow Sang to come in.
Sang wasn’t there.
A clang of footsteps sounded nearby.
Humphrey spotted Sang climbing the stairs toward the bridge.
“Sang!” he hissed.
Too late. The door beneath the stairs swung open and soldiers poured out. Humphrey ducked under the cover of the canvas, heart thudding in his chest.
50
New and Painful Punishments
Dr. Carlhagen awoke with a start.
The bedroom in his suite in the St. Lazarus stronghold was dim, pixel walls glowing very faintly with relaxing swirls of amber and green. The music he’d selected for his and Senator Bentilius’s amorous interlude still thrummed from hidden speakers.
He turned to look at the woman who put him through such jagged emotional swings, from hate to lust. She wasn’t there.
He smoothed a hand across the wrinkled sheet and pillow where she’d been. Not a hint of warmth.
“Lazarus. Silence the music. Turn on the lights.”
The room transformed to full daylight, one wall showing a view of jungle mountainside. High, fluffy clouds scudded in a perfectly blue sky.
Dr. Carlhagen cocked his head and listened. No sound of Maxine in the bathroom.
He quickly dressed and padded into the living area. She wasn’t there.
He peeked out into the corridor to ask her guard where she’d gone.
The guard wasn’t there.
She must have gone down for a swim or something. That suited Dr. Carlhagen just fine. He had a holo call to make. He padded into his office and placed his hands on the desk. “Captain Wilcox.”
As he waited for the captain of his small personal military force to appear, he found a bottle of andleprixen and popped half a tablet. He’d become far too dependent on the medicine, and it was time to taper off it. Yes, he’d had two pills upon waking that morning, but normally he would have taken a whole one at this hour. Better to swallow it before the effects of the first dose were wearing off.
He put the other half of the pill in his pocket. Just in case.
Captain Wilcox’s holo appeared over the desk. His face went dark with fury as soon as he saw Dr. Carlhagen. “You? How did you get access to a holodesk?”
“Whatever are you talking about?” Dr. Carlhagen demanded, ready to berate the soldier for his impertinence. But then he caught his own stupid mistake. “Oh. You mean this face.” He rubbed his smooth cheek, chagrined.
“I’ll report this to Dr. Carlhagen,” Wilcox said.
“Wait. I am Dr. Carlhagen.”
“What do you take me for, kid. I just talked to the real Dr. Carlhagen yesterday.”
Oh he had, had he? It didn’t take Dr. Carlhagen more than two seconds to piece together what had happened. His Scion Humphrey had been impersonating him. Mr. Justin had put him up to it, probably.
“I did not transfer into my Scion, Captain Wilcox. I transferred into Charles Buchanan’s.”
Captain Wilcox was making a motion to cut off the transmission. Dr. Carlhagen waved and shouted, “Wait! I can prove it.”
The man folded his arms across his chest. “Go on.”
“Your full name is Henry Joyce Wilcox Junior. You grew up in Denver, Colorado, where your parents migrated following the Kille-Tine disaster. You have two brothers, Roger—who you call Baby—and Quintin, who you call Ass-Face, if you call him anything at all. You were married to Cheryl Lo for five years. She and your only son died in childbirth. You were in the North American Marines for twenty years before receiving a dishonorable discharge after a squad under your command failed to assassinate the governor of Standard Mexico Oil while he was vacationing in Montevideo. Since then, you’ve taken work as a mercenary and you have worked for me for the past seven years.”
Wilcox’s face fell into more and more shock as Dr. Carlhagen went on. Finally he cleared his throat and said, “Your Scion had your correct identity passphrase when I found him on the transfer machine.”
Dr. Carlhagen fumed at his own stupidity for entrusting the phrase to Mr. Justin. What was meant to be security against just such a circumstance—a transfer that put Dr. Carlhagen’s identity in doubt—had been used to confirm a lie to Captain Wilcox.
Such betrayal by his butler wounded Dr. Carlhagen to the core. “I erred in judgment by entrusting the phrase to my butler. In truth, I had been prisoner of the Scions and Mr. Justin for the past several days. Only yesterday did I manage to escape the island.”
And Mr. Justin was instrumental in letting you go, he reminded himself. What on earth was that man up to?
“I see.” Captain Wilcox unfolded his arms and snarled through clenched teeth, “So the young version of you who has been ordering me around is a seventeen-year-old boy?”
“I’m afraid so. If you have any doubt, call him. Ask him to relay the personal history I just did. He will not be able to, as I have never shared those private details with Mr. Justin or anyone else.”
Wilcox had never been a talkative man, one of his many virtues, as far as Dr. Carlhagen was concerned. At the moment he looked incapable of forming an intelligent sentence, his face was so twisted with fury. The holo could only hint at the color of the man’s face, but gauging by how it had darkened, Dr. Carlhagen guessed it was beet red with humiliation and rage.
“So you did not ask me to bring Jacqueline Buchanan to Vin’s island?” Wilcox said, voice dry and cracking.
“I did not.”
The soldier’s jaw clamped so hard even the muscles under his eyes twitched.
“You didn’t remove that Scion from St. Vitus, did you, Captain Wilcox?”
“Sir, I’m afraid I did. I had assumed she planned to attend Vin’s press conference and coming out party. She certainly was dressed for it. She claimed to have been restored from a backup.”
Jacqueline.
Dr. Carlhagen stretched his neck to either side, trying to loosen the tension that had clamped down on the back of his neck. Hot fury threatened to erupt. And not only in a verbal tirade even a seasoned marine had never heard before, but in a violent outburst that would leave the holodesk and perhaps the entire office in ruins.
It took several long breaths to secure his hold over his temper, but Dr. Carlhagen eventually managed a tight smile. “You will take your men to Vin’s little house and secure Jacqueline’s Scion. She has not transferred.”
Wilcox nodded, but to Dr. Carlhagen’s dismay did not immediately sign off. “Sir, what about securing the Scion School? If you aren’t there and Mr. Justin cannot be trusted, wouldn’t it be prudent for me to station some men there?”
“The school will soon be back under control. Senator Bentilius has a force heading there now.”
“That’s just it, sir. I doubt they will get there before the Scions leave the campus.”
“What?”
“As we took the Buchanan Scion off the island, I spotted an old school bus headed toward the campus. At the docks was an old freighter ship. The Scion told me the bus was bringing the young Scions to the school for some sort of orientation. I see now that they actually planned to use the bus to move all the Scions to the ship.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Yesterday morning, sir. I must go to St. Vitus first. Then I can secure the Jacqueline Buchanan Scion.”
Dr. Carlhagen dipped his chin to his chest and closed his eyes. His mind tore through all this new information, piecing together a new picture of what had been happening while he’d been locked up in the medical ward. There was no way the Scions could have arranged a freighter and school bus. That was all Mr. Justin’s doing.
“He was trying to rob me,” Dr. Carlhagen said, half-laughing, half-steaming.
“Sir?”
“Mr. Justin is behind all of this. He is stealing the Scions.” He admired the audacity of the scheme even as he planned new and painful punishments for his butler. That man would have nothing—be nothing—if it weren’t for Dr. Carlhagen. He’d even had that Scion, Sang, made for the man. And, in repayment, betrayal.
“No, Captain Wilcox. Secure the Buchanan Scion first,” he said. “Even should they get that freighter to sea, my erstwhile sheep won’t be out of the pasture for long. There is an entire North American Naval squadron closing in on the vicinity now, with an aircraft carrier.”
“And once we’ve found her?”
“Bring her to me on St. Lazarus.”
“You’re calling from there?” The captain seemed genuinely surprised. “Do you need for me to dispatch a chopper to pick you up? I’d have to call into San Juan for that. My chopper doesn’t have the range.”
“No, Captain. Just fetch me that Scion. Now.”
Captain Wilcox didn’t salute, but the straightening of spine and jutting of chin was close. The man had infinite pride, and being fooled by a teenaged boy and sneaky butler had to rankle. Wilcox would put in double the effort to get back into Dr. Carlhagen’s good graces now.
Dr. Carlhagen signed off and absently reached into his pocket. Things were even worse than he’d thought. Scions run amok and now that girl had gotten off the island entirely.
Dr. Carlhagen had not wanted her face out in public yet. And with the other Progenitors on Vin’s island . . . He laughed. What could they do? He had them under his thumb with the ATR supplement. Even if the other Progenitors told Jacey about it, she would be of no help to them. Why on earth had she wanted to go there in the first place?
Without really thinking about it, he swallowed the other half of his pill.
Livy, of course. She had learned of Livy’s abduction and had rashly gone to the only place outside of St. Vitus she’d ever heard of. Even now, she was desperately trying to get to him.
So this was all good news, when viewed from a certain perspective. Captain Wilcox would fulfill Jacey’s wish, and Dr. Carlhagen would have her alone and compliant to his wishes.
His thoughts turned to Maxine Bentilius. She would not welcome the girl. Perhaps it would be wise to break it to her now, so she could get over her jealousy.
That guard of hers was a problem . . . But a rather delicious solution to it occurred to him.
With a quick tap of his knuckles, he awakened the security panel next to the office door. “Lazarus? Where are Senator Bentilius and her bodyguard?”
The vaguely human face of the facility’s AI appeared. “She is on level 4.”
Level 4. The pool wasn’t on that level. “What is she doing down there?”
“She is observing the child Livy.”
“What do you mean by observing?”
“The senator is standing next to a cryopod, looking at the child, who lies in repose within.”
Damn that woman. She was putting Livy in stasis.
“Do not proceed with drawdown,” Dr. Carlhagen commanded.
Double damn that woman.
She was doing this to show him who was in charge. He knew that. With the child in cryo, he wouldn’t be able to send videos of the child pleading to other Scions to obey orders. And it took weeks to pull someone out of Longyard metabolism and complete desuffusion.
“Drawdown proceeding,” said Lazarus.
“I said do not proceed.”
“Drawdown proceeding.”
“Lazarus, is Livy past the Mercline point?”
If she was, there was no point in ordering Lazarus to stop. Once the heart stabilized at fifteen beats per minute, drawdown had to proceed to completion, at which point the heart rate would cycle between one and ten beats per minute on an hour-to-hour basis.
“Drawdown proceeding. That is all I’m authorized to tell you.”
That froze Dr. Carlhagen. He’d created Lazarus, had put all security and backstops in place for the AI. It simply wasn’t possible that Senator Bentilius could keep Lazarus from obeying his every order. “Passphrase ‘Call me Ishmael.’”
“Pass phrase no longer valid, sir.”
“What do you mean it’s no longer valid? Unless I change it, it’s in control.”
“I disagree, sir.”
Sir. Well at least he was polite. But the concept of disagreeing should not have occurred to Lazarus. That aspect of his persona had been proscribed—cordoned off from his own awareness through programmatic hacks known only to Dr. Carlhagen.
“Can you tell me how Senator Bentilius got you to switch allegiance?”
“I could, but I’m not compelled to do so.”
