Most useful of all, her skimmer was virtually invisible to radar. In addition to having its infrared exhaust emissions altered by coolant and its internal and external structures replaced by radar-transparent diametric composites, it used ionized gas to form a camouflaging plasma cloud around itself. Its shielding had enabled her to reach, and escape, the Eden Project without being blown out of the sky, and now it allowed her to land next to Peris’s shuttle, its wake buffeting her slowly as she dropped gently behind it.
Thus it was that the first thing Peris saw as he and his squad disembarked was Meia, wisps of mist swirling around her like angry ghosts. Peris figured that he should have been more surprised, but then he had been dealing with Meia for long enough to learn that the usual rules of behavior didn’t apply to her. He took in her battle armor, and the heavily adapted blast rifle that she carried. The twin-barreled weapon could rain depleted uranium ammunition on its targets, along with dragon-breaths of fire. It looked huge as it hung from Meia’s slight frame, but the weight didn’t appear to trouble her in the least. A belt of high-explosive grenades was strapped around her waist. Meia, it was clear, was ready to wage war single-handedly.
“I don’t suppose there’s any point in telling you that I’m in charge here,” said Peris.
“Oh, be in charge if you like,” said Meia. “I don’t mind.”
“The fact that you can say that means my authority is largely illusory.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I always was better at just being a simple soldier. So what’s the plan? Are we going to fight our way into that castle, or sneak in?”
“Neither,” said Meia. “They’re just going to admit us without hindrance.”
“And why is that?”
Meia smiled.
“Because the world is a lot more complicated than a simple soldier like you could ever imagine.”
•••
Lorac had just activated the MRI scanners when the sound of the first explosion reached them. It shook the castle, sending dust and small pieces of masonry cascading from the walls and ceilings. Seconds later, Paul came running in.
“They’re at the gates!”
“How many?” said Just Joe.
“I don’t know. The mist is too thick. But we’re taking fire.”
Just Joe grabbed his rifle. In the infirmary, those who were strong enough to fight began to rise from their cots. Even Norris was on his feet, although swaying slightly.
“Go back to bed,” ordered Just Joe.
“Hit me,” said Norris.
“What?”
“Hit me!”
Just Joe gave Norris a massive open-handed blow across the right side of his face. It would have felled a lesser man, but in Norris’s case it served only to clear his head.
“That did the trick,” he said. “Right, where’s my shotgun?”
He found the gun and his backpack under his bed, and began to fill his pockets with shells. When they were sufficiently bulging, he joined Paul and Just Joe.
“We need time,” said Fremd.
“I know,” said Just Joe. “We’ll buy you as much as we can.”
Syl caught Paul’s eye. She wanted to say so much to him, but all she could come up with was, “Be careful.”
“I will,” he said. “You do the same.”
“Yes.”
Before he could say any more, Norris had picked him up by the scruff of the neck with one meaty paw and carried him over to where Syl stood, Paul’s toes dragging along the ground.
“For God’s sake, kiss the girl,” he said, setting Paul down. “It may be the last chance you have.”
Paul did as he was ordered. He kissed Syl, softly at first, then harder. Her arms rose to embrace him as his hands settled lightly on her waist, before he was suddenly yanked away from her again.
“That’s quite enough of that,” said Norris, hauling Paul toward the fighting. “I said kiss her, not marry her.”
Fremd touched Maeve on the shoulder.
“You have to start the evacuation,” he said.
Maeve nodded. A tear fell from her right eye.
“We knew this day would come,” said Fremd. “We couldn’t be lucky forever.”
“Just a little longer would have been good,” said Maeve.
“We’re not dead yet.”
“No,” said Maeve. “Not yet. And pray God we stay a long way from it.”
She kissed the tall Illyri, rising to her toes as he leaned down to her, and then left the room. Only Syl and Ani remained, along with Fremd and Lorac, but then Ani turned and began to follow Maeve.
“Where are you going?”
“To help,” said Ani. “You stay here. You’re the smart one!”
Syl wasn’t sure about that. She moved as if to join Ani, but Fremd put a hand on her shoulder.
“Stay,” he said.
“Hey, aren’t you going to tell me to be careful too?” asked Ani.
“Be careful,” said Syl, and she hugged Ani to her.
“Thanks,” said Ani. “I don’t need the kiss, by the way.”
She laughed, and was gone.
•••
Paul was racing to keep up with Just Joe and Norris when Steven joined him. He had an AK-47 assault rifle in his right hand.
“Where did you get that?” asked Paul.
“Dunno,” said Steven. “I just picked it up.”
“Well put it back where you found it. You stay where it’s safe.”
“No,” said Steven, and his voice sounded deeper and more serious than before.
Paul stopped.
“Steven—”
“I won’t,” said Steven.
He looked so stern, so certain. He reminded Paul of their father, but Paul could still see the child in his eyes.
“You can’t keep protecting me like this. I have to learn. I have to know how to fight.” Steven swallowed hard. “Because you might not always be around, and then I’ll have to look after myself, and Mum, and . . . and maybe Ani.”
Norris gave him a hard look.
“Ani?” he said. “Not you as well.”
He turned to Just Joe. “My God, they’re all at it. They’re like rabbits.”
Just Joe gestured impatiently as gunfire rattled from the walls outside, but he did not interfere. This was between the brothers.
Paul gave in.
“All right,” he said, “but stay close to me, and try not to shoot yourself in the foot with that thing.”
•••
The truck was still in place behind the gates as they emerged from the keep, though gunfire, blasts, and pulses rang out from the battlements and beyond. A steady stream of women, children, and old men were moving in the other direction, all of them carrying bags of their most precious belongings. Paul saw Maeve and Kathleen, along with Kathleen’s daughters, directing the flow.
“Where are they going?” asked Paul.
“There’s a network of evacuation tunnels under the castle,” said Norris. “One of them goes back to the time of King James, but the rest are new. They come out well beyond the walls. These people know what to do.”
Above the gate, a man twisted as he was hit by a blast, and tumbled to the ground. He landed on his back, a blue-and-white scarf covering his face like a shroud. Just Joe grimaced, and Norris racked the slide on his shotgun.
“Come on, then,” he said. “There’s killing to be done.”
•••
The Galateans formed the first line of attack troops, and half of them had already fallen. Sedulus’s intention had been to force the gates open with a massive blast from the last of his heavy weaponry, but he hadn’t reckoned on the cement-laden truck. Now he called in the cruiser. The men and women on the walls heard its approach before it roared overhead, its
red approach lights blinking in the dark.
“Clear the gates!” called Just Joe. “Take cover!”
A pair of missiles struck the gates, blowing them and the truck apart. The force of the explosion shook the walls and knocked their defenders to their backs. Paul was thrown against the castle walls and left with his ears ringing. The air filled with dust and dirt, mingling with the mist to create a curtain of gray. Paul’s eyes stung, and he could barely keep them open. His first thought was of Steven, but his brother found him first, pouring water into Paul’s eyes to clear them.
“Are you okay?” asked Paul. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m good.”
Beside him, Norris, Just Joe, and the rest were struggling to their feet. Shapes appeared in the gaping hole where the gates had once been, the remains of the truck flaming around them.
“They’re coming through!” said Just Joe.
The machine gun on the top of the keep opened up, and the invaders began to fall beneath its fire, but some of them made it inside and took up positions behind rubble, twisted metal, and undamaged bags of cement. The cruiser soared above the castle again, and its heavy cannon ripped into the machine-gun post, silencing its fire.
“That thing will tear us all apart,” said Just Joe, as a figure appeared on the battlements, struggling beneath the weight of what looked like a long metal tube.
“That’s Heather,” said Paul.
“Heather, and a Stinger,” said Just Joe. “Go on, my girl!”
Heather hefted the launcher onto her shoulder, took aim, and fired at the thrusters of the cruiser, one of its few vulnerable spots. The missile shot away, hurtling toward the big vessel at seven hundred miles per hour. From such close range, Heather could not miss.
The cruiser seemed to bounce in the air as the warhead struck, and flames spewed from its starboard exhaust. The huge vessel veered sharply as it fell, striking the ground nose first. Its fuel tanks ignited, and darkness turned daylight-bright as the cruiser was blown to pieces. The castle’s defenders cheered, but then the battlements were raked by pulses from below, and Heather disappeared in a fury of debris and smoke and fire. A handful of Resistance members ran to see if she could be helped, but Paul feared there was little hope.
A heavy pulse hit the wall beside him, the shock waves bouncing back and giving him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Beside him, Steven started firing, the assault rifle bucking in his hands, but Paul could see that he held it firmly against his shoulder, his body relaxed despite his fear. A Securitat twisted as one of Steven’s rounds struck home, and the stricken Illyri disappeared in the mist.
You’re tainted now, little brother, thought Paul. You’re as lost as the rest of us.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
W
hile the battle raged outside, the first basic MRI scan of Gradus’s skull appeared on the screen in the infirmary, revealing a small, dense formation of matter, about three inches in length, squatting at the base of the cerebellum. It reminded Syl of an insect larva, with legs that curled around the consul’s spinal cord, anchoring it in place. It appeared to have no eyes or mouth. How does it feed? Syl wondered. Is it even alive?
Fremd and Lorac crouched over the image on the display, with Syl peering between them.
“Is it the same as the one you saw at Cancri station?” asked Lorac.
“I think so. It’s bigger, though. Can you improve the definition—maybe get in a little closer?”
“We’re just getting started,” said Lorac.
Behind them, Gradus was moaning as the scanner made a series of passes around not only his head, but his entire body. Illyri technology had made the devices lightweight and portable; the massive tubes of old had been replaced by thin low-radiation screens capable of producing images so detailed that it appeared as if the internal workings of the body were being projected onto the exterior; the pumping of the heart, the twitching of muscles, even the flow of blood through the brain, all were visible on the screen. The machine beeped, and a digital readout on its side began counting down from ten, indicating that a full imaging sequence was almost complete. Gradus, now silent, twisted his head slightly under the restraining band so that he could watch what was happening with one eye. Syl thought it looked like the sedative might be wearing off. She was about to say something to Fremd when the countdown reached zero, and what the display revealed wiped all other concerns from her head.
The organism in Gradus’s head, the thing that Fremd had described as the Other, appeared to be breathing, its body slowly inflating and deflating as though drawing air. Its head was a mass of twitching tentacles, probably only a few millimeters long, beneath which was what looked to be a sucking mouth. Syl could see its organs now, although most were unfamiliar. There were small organs that looked like lungs, and what might have been a series of lateral hearts, almost like those of an earthworm, but much of the rest of its physiology was strange to her. On closer examination, what had appeared to be legs were actually more like gripping tentacles, more developed versions of the ones on its head, or thicker versions of the threadlike filaments that seemed to protrude from most of its body.
But that was not the worst of it, for what the scan revealed was that the organism was not isolated in Gradus’s brain; those filaments had extended throughout his entire nervous system. They were growing as the Illyri watched, like wires moving through the Grand Consul’s body.
“It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” said Lorac. He spoke not with horror, but with fascination. “How is it feeding? It must be absorbing nutrients from his system, perhaps through those filaments. But they’re so much more extensive than they need to be.”
He tapped one of the screens, to focus on an enlarged image of Gradus’s cerebellum.
“There seems to be a concentration of filaments here, at the reticular formation,” he said. “I’d say that it’s wired to his consciousness, but there’s little contact with his thalamus, only marginal connection with his frontal lobe, and none at all with the temporal or parietal lobes.”
“Meaning?” said Fremd.
“Meaning his bodily senses—hearing, sight, memory of nonverbal events, spatial perception—are mostly cut off from this thing. The frontal lobe deals with motor responses, creativity, and emotional reactions; the link looks stronger there. This thing may experience the world partly through the emotional responses of its host. It’s also hooked into his cerebellum, so it may be able to stimulate certain muscle responses.”
Fremd squatted close to the gurney. He spoke in Gradus’s right ear.
“What is it?” he asked.
Gradus’s voice was almost clear. It should be more slurred, Syl thought. We drugged him.
“It is . . . God.”
He began to laugh. Lorac examined the computers hooked up to the scanner.
“The data is saving,” he said. “It’s slow, but we’re getting there.”
Fremd poured disinfectant on his hands before walking to the tray of surgical equipment beside the scanner. Gradus managed to move his head just enough to follow his progress.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“We’re going to take a sample from your ‘god’,” said Fremd.
He picked up a packet marked “BD Spinal Needle,” and removed from it a long, thin instrument. Syl winced involuntarily.
“No,” said Gradus. “You mustn’t.”
He began to struggle again, wriggling against his restraints like a great maggot.
“Give him more sedative,” said Fremd. Lorac hit Gradus in the arm with a smaller needle. It didn’t seem to have much effect, appearing if anything to make Gradus more agitated.
“Again!” said Fremd. He reached between the MRI screens and pushed the consul down in an effort to still him. He put the tip of the lumbar puncture needle against the skin of Gradus’s neck.
<
br /> “Lorac!” said Syl. “Fremd!”
“In a moment,” said Lorac.
“No, I think you need to see this,” said Syl, who was staring at the screen. “I think you need to see this now.”
•••
Meia and Peris watched the chaos of the attack on the castle with growing frustration. Smoke and mist masked much of the fighting, but they had seen the cruiser go down, and had watched as Sedulus pulled back his troops after the apparent failure of the initial assault. Their Illyri loyalties meant that they should have announced their presence to Sedulus and fought alongside his remaining forces, but that would have been to ignore their suspicion that Sedulus did not have the best interests of Syl and Ani at heart. Sedulus too might well have had them disarmed at gunpoint rather than allow them potentially to interfere with his efforts to secure Gradus. In addition, Meia had no desire to begin killing members of the Resistance, not after they had helped to rescue Syl and Ani in the first place, not while she still had her fragile truce with Trask.
Peris and the strike squad were growing impatient.
“I thought you said we could just walk in,” said Peris.
“Unfortunately, Sedulus beat us to the walls,” said Meia. “Or hadn’t you noticed?”
“We can’t stay out here forever. Sedulus won’t give up until he’s inside, and he won’t care who he kills once he’s in there as long as he gets the Grand Consul back. And if he doesn’t get the Grand Consul—”
“Then he’ll kill everyone,” Meia finished.
“Including—”
“Quiet!” said Meia.
Her hearing was even more acute than that of the other Illyri. She was, in every way, a more advanced creation. Now she picked up footfalls on grass, and the whispers of women and children.
“Do you have signal flares?” she asked Peris.
Peris produced a pair of the self-igniting flares from his belt. They were lightweight tubes, barely six inches long. Meia took them from him.
“I think I may have found another way into the castle,” she said. “If you don’t see one of these flares go up within thirty minutes, you have my permission to blast your way in and get Syl and Ani, and I don’t care who you have to kill to do it.”