Chronicles of the Invaders 1: Conquest (19 page)

“Oh, you have talents, and you’re stronger than anyone suspects, but to dissemble in that way is beyond you,” said Syrene. “Which leaves your friend Ani to do the hard work; her, or someone else whose identity I do not yet know. I suspect Ani; after all, she had already fled when the Securitats came for her, and they were silent in their approach. She knew that they were coming. She
sensed
it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Syl.

Something flashed in Syrene’s eyes. Her hand tightened on her glass, and the delicate crystal seemed on the verge of shattering under the pressure, but the Red Witch, either out of concern for its contents or a reluctance to demonstrate such a show of anger, relented.

“Don’t lie to me,” she said evenly. “I don’t like it.”

Trowel. Cement. Brick. Position. Trowel . . .

“Tell me!”

Cement. Brick. Position. Trowel. Cement . . .

“Oh, you little fool,” said Syrene.

She stood. As if by silent summons, the door to her chambers opened, and Vena stood in the gap, waiting.

“This is your last night on Earth,” said Syrene. “You will never see it again.”

Syl rose from her chair. Slowly she tipped her glass, and the valuable cremos spilled on Syrene’s ancient rug, damaging it irreparably.

“I will look inside your head and find out what you’re hiding,” said Syrene, “even if I have to use a surgeon’s scalpel to do it.”

She motioned to Vena.

“Take her away.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

S
yl was taken to one of the windowless cells in the Vaults so recently vacated by Paul and Steven. She was given a one-piece suit and her nightclothes were taken away. She was provided with a mattress, a blanket, and a jug of water, and left alone with her thoughts. This time, Vena took upon herself the duties of guarding the prisoner, assisted by twelve of her most loyal underlings. Clearly, the Securitats were anticipating some attempt to free Syl, because they were armed with both pulsers and heavy-duty blast rifles, and their uniforms had been exchanged for battle armor. Vena informed her that she would be allowed no visitors, and no one beyond Vena’s cohort—not even the Grand Consul—was permitted to approach her cell, on pain of death.

“What will happen to me?” asked Syl.

“You are to be taken offworld tomorrow,” said Vena. “Eventually, in accordance with the requirements of Illyri justice, you will be tried and, I have no doubt, found guilty of treason.”

She paused at the door.

“I do have one question for you,” she said.

Syl waited. She could have told Vena exactly what to do with her question, but she did not. She dreaded the thought of the cell door closing. While it was still open, there was hope: hope of rescue, of her father’s coming to release her, of Meia’s mounting some kind of daring escape bid just as had been done for the humans. They would not fear Vena’s guns. They would not let Syl be taken through the wormhole, to be lost in the vastness of the universe.

But her father . . .

Her father was ashamed of her. She had seen it in his eyes. His own daughter was a traitor, and she would be made to face the full force of the law. He could not condone or excuse treason, even by his own blood. If an exception were made for her, then the law would be meaningless. And if—or rather
when
—she was found guilty, her father’s career would be over. She had ruined him through her actions.

“My question is this,” said Vena. “You had everything, but you threw it away, and for humans. Why?”

Syl stared her straight in the face.

“So that I could look at myself in the mirror,” she replied, “and know that I was not like you.”

“I always hated you,” said Vena.

“I know,” said Syl.

“And you always hated me.”

“No,” said Syl, her voice almost bored. “I pitied you. You hurt, and you torture, and you kill, but you do it to feed the rage and pain inside you; destroying the lives of others is easier than facing the emptiness of your own. You’re nothing to me.”

Vena’s eyes glittered with pure, vengeful malice.

“The Grand Consul wants you to hang,” she said, “you and your friend. He thinks it will be an apt punishment for depriving the gallows of two lives. What the Grand Consul wants, he gets, but when you hang, it will be in the hold of a starship far, far from here, and I will be in charge of the rope. I’ll make it short, and you’ll dance for me. You and Ani will dance on air until your faces turn black and your lungs explode. I will drive the pity from you. I will demonstrate what it’s worth. Afterward, your bodies will be burned, and there will be nothing left to show that you ever existed. I will erase every trace of you and I will watch all those who ever loved you wither and die. That is nothingness, Syl. I’ll give you a taste of it now, so you can see how you like it.”

Vena closed the door, and seconds later the light in the cell was extinguished, leaving Syl in total darkness.

•••

Danis held Lord Andrus back. He was thankful that the governor was not armed. If he were, Meia would be dead. Not that Danis would have minded particularly; his own daughter was also missing, and Meia was to blame.

“
Your
doing?” shouted Andrus. “You are responsible for this?”

His face was mottled with rage, but there was also hurt and pain. Lord Andrus had been twice betrayed: first by his daughter, and now by his spymistress.

Meia showed no fear.

“The two humans could not be allowed to die,” she said simply.

“And why not? Who are you to decide who lives or dies on this world?”

“Who are you to do so?” replied Meia, and even Danis seemed taken aback at her insolence. “Who is Gradus, or Syrene, to take the lives of children? Is that what we have become: child-killers who sacrifice the lives of the young to further our own political ends?”

“So you went behind my back? You drew my daughter, and Danis’s child, into your scheme? You have put both of their lives at risk, Meia!”

“I forced them to do nothing,” said Meia. “They chose to act because those who should have acted stood idly by. When adults would hang children, perhaps it must be left to children to stop them. Syl and Ani were prepared to do what their parents would not.”

“You are beyond arrogant, Meia,” said Danis. “My daughter is not one of your playthings.”

“You have no idea what your daughter can do,” said Meia. “She can cloud minds. She is a natural psychic.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Danis, but he could not hold Meia’s gaze.

“You knew,” said Meia.

“I knew nothing.”

“Then you suspected, but you and your wife turned a blind eye to it. You have grown too set in your ways, Danis. You’re afraid to look closely at what you don’t understand.”

Now it was Lord Andrus’s turn to hold Danis back. To an uninvolved observer, it might have looked as though they were engaged in an awkward waltz.

“Meia, you go too far,” said Andrus. “You have been loyal to me for so long, but this will not stand. Tell me why I should not hand you over to Gradus in return for mercy for Syl and Ani.”

“Because you know there will be no mercy,” said Meia. “Gradus means to destroy you, and he will succeed if you continue to act as you do. The old president is dead, and the new one has the Sisterhood whispering in his ear. Your authority on this world has been completely undermined, and the execution of those boys would have destroyed it utterly with the violence that would have followed. Earth would undoubtedly have risen up in outright war against us, and Gradus would have found a way to blame you for the consequences of his actions.

“Now Gradus has your daughter, and he means to take her offworld. Once he has her on his vessel, you will never see her again. Her trial will be held in secret, and you will learn of her fate in a letter signed by Gradus’s hand. The wormholes have given the Diplomatic Corps an entire universe in which to hide that which it does not wish to be found. It has bases on worlds that do not even possess names. If your daughter is not executed in secret, she will end her days in a cell on one of those worlds. Eventually too they will find the general’s daughter, and she will share the same fate.”

Andrus slumped against Danis, so that the old general was forced to hold him steady. The events of the past days had sapped the governor’s strength, and the thought of being deprived of his daughter forever was more than he could bear. He collapsed in a chair and covered his eyes with his right hand.

“So my daughter will be lost to me,” he said, “unless I am willing to go to war with Gradus and the Corps.”

“She is not yet lost,” said Meia, “and war may yet be avoided. It is imperative that Syl does not leave this planet, but she is closely guarded, and the Securitats will shoot anyone who approaches her cell. We will have one chance to save her, but it’s dangerous, and it may place her in the hands of those who have as much cause to hate her as Gradus does.”

“What are you proposing?” said Andrus.

“If Syl is to be transported offworld on a shuttle, it is possible that I could access its systems and attempt an override while it is in the air, redirecting it to a safe location,” said Meia. “The risk involved is an obvious one: Syl’s guards could be under orders to execute her if any attempt at rescue is made, and an override would alert them and give them time to kill her.”

At the mention of killing Syl, Andrus flinched involuntarily in pain.

“There is also the matter of the shuttle in the courtyard. It is a vessel of the Sisterhood, and its systems are protected,” continued Meia, “but it is unlikely that it will be used to take Syl to Gradus’s ship. Syrene will not allow her personal shuttle, with all its comforts and secrets, to be used as prisoner transport, and as long as she stays, so too will her shuttle. That means they will use a shuttle from either the Diplomat or Securitat pool. I’m already monitoring their systems to see which will be chosen.”

“Well?” said Danis. “What options does that leave us with? You’ve just told us that they’ll kill Syl if we try to override the systems.”

“I’m proposing that we crash the shuttle,” said Meia.

There was an incredulous silence in the room, until Andrus eventually managed to speak.

“With Syl on board?”

“With Syl on board. If we can disable one engine, the shuttle’s automatic safety procedures will be activated immediately, and the system will assist the pilots in making an emergency landing. The dangers are obvious, but shuttles have glided safely to ground with minimal engine power. Even an inexperienced pilot can deal with the loss of one engine. The shuttle will have to follow the standard route for all craft going offworld, so we know where it will be headed, and we can pinpoint where it will come down to within a few square miles. We can then arrange for Syl to be picked up, and hide her from Gradus until we figure out our next move.”

“Crashing a shuttle with my daughter on board is a risk I’m not prepared to take,” said Andrus.

“That’s not even the greatest risk involved,” said Meia. “The shuttle will have to come down somewhere out of the immediate reach of the Corps and its Securitats. As soon as it hits the ground, its emergency locator beacon will send out a signal. It should be possible to disable it in advance—after all, if I’m sabotaging the shuttle, I should be able to wire the beacon so that it blows with the engine—but it still won’t take long to locate the wreckage. We won’t be able to shadow the shuttle with a Military craft because the crew will be scanning for any sign of trouble. Ideally, then, we’ll need someone on the ground to find Syl and keep her safe until we can get to her.”

For once, Danis was ahead of the governor.

“The standard route for craft heading offworld is northwest to Iceland,” he said. “You’re talking about crashing an Illyri ship carrying the daughter of the governor of Europe in the Highlands?”

“That’s right,” said Meia.

“Which is hostile territory.”

“Yes.”

“And who will we have on the ground in the Highlands?”

Meia spoke as though the answer were so obvious as to not even be worth voicing.

“Highlanders.”

•••

Meia returned to her chambers. It had been all she could do not to show weakness in the face of Andrus’s anger, because weakness was contagious, and she had to make the governor and Danis believe in her if she were to rescue Syl. But she knew that her relationship with Andrus had been damaged forever by what had occurred, and even securing Syl would not return it to its previous state. In a way, Meia’s actions, like Syl’s, had cost her the trust of the only father figure she had ever known.

Her closet door opened, and Ani emerged.

“I’m getting tired of hiding,” she said.

“I’m getting tired of having you in my closet,” said Meia. “I value my privacy.”

“Oh, well excuse me,” said Ani. “Sorry for imposing, given that it’s your fault I’m on the run to begin with.”

There was a knock on the door. Ani began to slide back into the closet, but Meia indicated that she should stay where she was and remain quiet. A blade appeared in the spymistress’s right hand as she approached the door.

“Who’s there?” said Meia.

“It’s me—Althea.”

Meia opened the door and admitted Syl’s governess. Althea nodded curtly at Ani, seemingly unsurprised to discover her in Meia’s rooms. While Althea was fond of Ani in a vaguely forbidding way, she regarded her as a wild child who needed to be tamed. She had largely given up on trying to persuade Syl to keep her distance from the young Illyri; she was wise enough to know that her own fondness for Syl sometimes blinded her to the fact that it was Syl, not Ani, who generally took the lead. Ani’s enthusiasm fed Syl’s fire, but it would still have burned merrily, even without Ani.

“I see that you’re in trouble again,” said Althea.

“It’s a misunderstanding,” said Ani.

“It usually is where you’re concerned: a misunderstanding of what is and is not appropriate behavior for a young Illyri.”

“Right. Rescuing young people from the gallows is bad, then? I’ll add it to the list.”

Althea rolled her eyes.

“You summoned me?” she said to Meia.

“I did,” said Meia. “Syl has been arrested and is charged with treason. She is to be taken offworld tomorrow, to be tried and, presumably, executed.”

Althea, normally so teacherly, so precise, so formal, covered her face with her hands and slid to the floor. A wretched wail escaped from between her fingers, a sound that was part animal and pure agony.

Meia watched her with something vaguely like pity on her cool face. Ani looked away, embarrassed and affected by the older woman’s grief.

Althea’s wail turned to words, short and panicked. “No, not my Syl. Never Syl. No.”

Meia tapped her foot impatiently.

“Stop this, Althea,” she said finally. “If we don’t act immediately, she will be beyond our reach.”

Althea looked up, her expression that of a drowning woman being thrown a rope.

“I’ll do anything, Meia. You know it to be so.”

Meia nodded. “I have another errand for you. I would go myself, but I have urgent work to do.”

“Where am I going?”

“Where you usually go on these occasions: to visit our friends in the Resistance,” said Meia. “Oh, and there’s some more bad news.”

“Which is?” said Althea, her tone making it clear that there was already quite enough bad news to be getting along with. Nevertheless, Meia asked the one thing certain to make the situation even worse.

She smiled grimly.

“You’re taking Ani with you.”