Eventually the kicking stopped. She lay there for hours more, thinking, until all the worries faded away.
It was another few days before Gílana discovered the Crilshan governors’ plans for the Pure Gene insertion. Anna had kept the secret well, not wanting to concern her. At first she’d been able to do nothing but cry. The other two simply thought she was emotional.
The old Gílana Berenguer wasn’t gone. She wouldn’t lose herself. But she hated what she’d done to Anna. She hated the fact she had betrayed her and slept with Jon, her very own sister’s best friend. Here was her reward: a child that Anna would no doubt resent.
Anna hadn’t mentioned Jon at all since Erebus. It was easier to forget than to remember something so painful as his death. Like their mother. Like their father. Like Uncle Ruben. She’d spent too much time worrying about it. It wouldn’t phase her. She would not let it.
In secret, Gílana read the daily statements released by the Crilshan governors. Anna and Callista thought she had no idea, having hidden them in a kitchen drawer. She went along with it, pretending that she didn’t know. According to the wicked Crilshan officials, most Titanese lives were not worth living. Crilshan politics had become part of their military’s Master Plan.
Gílana didn’t know much about Crilshar and the Dishan, but she knew cruelty and cowardice when she saw them. The others could discuss it between them. But even the youngest Berenguer knew when hope had run out.
The baby continued to kick all that week. Callista sat her down and explained everything that would happen with the pregnancy. Gílana pretended to listen, but none of what the old woman said really remained inside her head. She was more concerned with finding out everything she could about the Crilshans out there. Out there where she should be. Enjoying this wonderful experience. Looking forward to holding her little boy in her arms.
When Callista took Anna into their uncle’s old bedroom to talk and to meditate – always with those disgusting candles – Gílana would follow and wait just outside the door, listening intently. She would sit, ear pressed against the cold door and hands upon her womb, stroking the soft skin around her navel. She would sit silently for hours at a time, listening and absorbing all that she could. She felt better knowing all that she could. It calmed her, and it calmed the baby.
At the end of the week she sat listening at the door again. The two inside were talking about the Crilshan governors’ latest plans for the Titanese people.
‘Anna,’ Callista said, ‘the Dishan family has always been more concerned with military and reputation than social issues. The Thynian family, on the other hand, were always more socially conscious.’
‘So the Dishan must have rivals on Crilshar.’
‘Rivals, yes. Equals, never.’
‘So the Crilshan governors here,’ Anna said. ‘The politicians calling for the removal of the Pure Gene are Thynian, not Dishan?’
‘Yes.’
‘But they’re worse.’
‘They are in that respect.’
‘That’s the only respect we need to care about. If Gílana finds out this latest design.’
‘She can’t. You have to keep it to yourself, Anna.’
‘I know. No Pure Gene. Just death for mother and child. Things are getting worse.’
Gílana stifled her gasp. No Pure Gene. Just death for mother and child?
Callista cleared her throat. ‘Women that are biologically enabled to bear children are uniquely placed at risk as members of a group targeted as racially inferior. Titanese motherhood is now to be eradicated. It’s the next logical step.’
‘And now Gílana’s pregnancy is obvious. If the Crilshan inspection wants to examine her . . . if they even want to see her.’
‘According to them she’s inferior genetic stock.’
‘She’s my sister! I won’t let that happen.’
Gílana managed a small smile.
‘Anna, these programs of mass murder began when Crilshan physicians and politicians decided that human life was of differential value. When race became a metaphor for disease. It’s exactly what happened to me, to my people. The Iástrons fled beneath the moon Europa to escape it. It’s madness. Irrational down to the last atom. We cannot control it. Peter Marx knew that himself, which is why he did not fight it. He did what he could, and kept us safe. What we can control is whether we allow ourselves to believe it. We must not.’
‘Never,’ Anna said. ‘Thank you, Callista.’
‘But that’s not it. Keep reading. There’s more in that statement.’
Silence as Anna read. Gílana breathed through her nostrils, as quiet as she could. She had to hear it.
Eventually Anna sighed. ‘What do you think?’
Callista breathed in slowly, then out again. ‘It will happen any day now.’
‘So we’re just going to wait?’
‘These politicians are on the verge of deciding that non-Crilshans of a certain age will be “put out of their impure misery.” What choice do we have?’
‘Non-Crilshans of a certain age. That may not mean you—’
‘I’m the oldest woman on Titan. Whatever age it is, it will be me!’
‘I can’t believe it.’
‘This is what they do.’
‘Forced euthanasia?’
‘Murder!’
Anna began to cry.
‘We mustn’t let Gílana know, child. She can’t know. She mustn’t know.’
A tear fell down Gílana’s cheek. Any day now. The question was not whether they would be found out, but when. And who was going to go first.
FORTY-FOUR
AS THE CLEAR cell door of the prison pod opened and three brutish Crilshans entered, Avéne Ketrass knew what was coming. The last to enter closed the door behind him. Of the two that entered first, one took Ketrass by the arm and pulled her to the back of the cell. He clasped one of her hands into the plastic fetters up above. The other took out a serrated blade and held it to Diego Ferranti’s neck.
Kramer went to move, but hesitated. The third dragged him aside, threw him to the ground, and placed the sole of his boot upon the professor’s head with a smug grin.
Ketrass closed her eyes as another beating took place. She pressed her forehead against the clear cell wall, stood on her tiptoes with a hand stretched up to her restraint.
Ferranti’s grunts and cries echoed about the cube. Then suddenly he went silent. Ketrass forced herself to turn and watch. The third Crilshan kept Kramer down, while the other two held Ferranti between them. One forced the Titanese captain’s mouth shut from behind, suffocating him. The other held a razor blade over his arm, piercing skin. His eyes watered.
Ketrass wept.
‘You won’t be needing this,’ one Crilshan said, and with a smile wrenched the arm brace from Ferranti’s once-broken arm. Ferranti cringed, teeth gritted. ‘Not painful enough, I see, khulul?’
‘Knife him!’
She trembled, unable to speak. Utterly exhausted. Day after day. Hour after hour. Beating after beating. There was no way out. Except perhaps one. But she could never do it.
‘You’re next, Kramer,’ the Crilshan grunted, releasing a hand from Ferranti’s mouth, allowing him to drop to his knees, before driving his knee into his face. Blood burst from his nose. ‘Your whore mothers bred a sorry race.’
‘And yours gave birth to her brother,’ Kramer said from the ground.
Ketrass gasped. Why did you say that, Xerin?
‘What did he say?!’
‘You heard me,’ he said. ‘You craven dirt!’
The two Crilshans left Ferranti unconscious upon the ground, moving over to their next victim. They wrenched Kramer from the floor and beat him senseless. One slammed his face into the clear wall, over and over. In seconds his face was plastered in blood.
‘Stop it!’ she cried. ‘You’re going to kill him! Stop it!’
One of them came for her. He forced her back, held her only free arm up against the wall, and ran h
is dripping tongue across her face. She trembled with dread as his hand wandered down her body, clutching her hips.
She gazed past him, and from the corner of her blurry eyes saw Ferranti stagger to his feet. He fell forwards, picked himself up, and hurled himself in Kramer’s direction. Reaching for the closest Crilshan’s holstered knife, he raised it high and drove it into his back. The brute screamed, raised up, desperately clawing for the blade. Ferranti drew it out and forced it through the Crilshan’s face.
The cell door swung open and several more guards entered. They hauled the bleeding, screaming Crilshan out. Others began beating Kramer and Ferranti as they too were dragged from the cell. Everyone was yelling. Ketrass’ heart hammered so hard she thought it would explode.
‘Bring them out!’
‘Which ones?’
‘The males.’
‘The female?’
‘Leave her there!’
Two dragged Ferranti by his hair. The others picked Kramer up.
Ketrass’ stomach churned. ‘Wait!’ she cried. ‘Where are you taking them?’
‘Solitary!’
‘What am I supposed to do?’
The door slammed shut. She received no answer, and remained stood, hand tied to the wall above her, surrounded by a blood-smeared, silent cube.
FORTY-FIVE
THAT NIGHT, GORDIAN watched Ketrass sleep. She tossed and turned, alone in the prison pod now. For the first time in Gordian’s life, he felt pity. But only when he watched her. He had seen footage of the earlier incident, and sorely wished he had been here to deal with it. He adjusted his goggles in the bright light. Part of him yearned to go into the cell; to hold her and protect her; to tell her that everything would be all right.
But it wouldn’t. He knew it wouldn’t.
He watched her for as long he could, and then left discreetly. The last thing he wanted was to spark suspicion. He left the great cell room, proceeding instead to the solitary chambers. Based in a separate wing of the martial building, the cells were deeper into the ground. Darker, colder, and lonelier.
He placed his personal key fob up against the cell’s glowing screen, and the cell door creaked open. It was completely dark inside. He took his goggles off, able to see the small room. A slender body lay in the corner, shackled to the smooth concrete floor. An upturned table with three legs missing had been pushed against the wall to his left.
‘Diego Ferranti?’ he said.
‘Who’s there?’
‘Gordian. I’m alone.’
‘Where . . . were you? I couldn’t let them kill him.’
‘I’m sorry, Diego.’
‘Kramer . . . how is he?’
‘In solitary, just like you.’
‘And Ketrass?’
‘Still in the cell. At least it’s dark in here.’
‘I prefer the light. I’m no Crilshan.’
Gordian activated a small light above and moved across to the fading captain. He sat him up and offered a cap of water from his own bottle.
‘You have to tell me, Gordian. You have to tell me . . . how Anna . . . how they are.’
‘They’re held in their home. Not allowed to leave. But they’re safe.’
‘Gílana?’
‘The baby is still secret. No Crilshan but me knows.’
‘And the rest of Titan? What’s . . . going on out there?’
‘You really don’t want to know.’
‘I do!’
‘Okay . . . Okay. Relax. Anna, her sister, and the Iástron are safe. I’m watching out for them as best I can. There is only so much I can do. Sudana has been watching me.’
‘And the Alignment?’
‘The Alignment has fallen. The Dishan control all Systems and almost all worlds. Dishan and Thynian governors control Titan, under Mistress Sudana’s watch.’
‘And her master.’
‘Yes. Lord Malizar.’ He lightly dabbed a cloth over the Titanese man’s arm wound. ‘You’re bleeding still.’
‘Titan is bleeding, Gordian. I don’t matter.’
‘You allow them to make you think that?’
‘It’s true. Careful use of the word they.’
‘I told you I wasn’t part of it.’
‘But you are. You betrayed me. You betrayed all of us.’
‘I was wrong.’
Ferranti breathed out in measured gasps as the Crilshan cleaned his wounds and examined his arm. ‘They tell me your arm has healed well.’
‘I’m surprised they . . . care so much . . . about my arm.’
‘They don’t. But they know that having an established and well-trained captain in their custody is handy should they ever need you to work for them. Whether you’re to be executed or not.’
‘Executed? Really?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry. I’m honoured they consider me a . . . a threat worth executing.’
‘Worth has nothing to do with it. You are worthy whether they find a use for you or not. When the cities were first taken, they executed all Titanese leaders, especially military. But now they’re training them, making them serve Crilshar. They’re building an army.’
‘For what?
‘Mistress Sudana and her master have conquered Titan, and are now preparing it to join all others as arsenals for a far greater cause.’
‘What greater cause?’
‘Nobody knows. But it is obvious to me.’ He leaned in. ‘To combat the greater threat.’
Reality dawned. Ferranti opened his eyes wide. ‘Erebus.’
‘M-hmm.’
‘The Zinn.’
‘He must now know what we know, because of Sudana.’
‘They think we’re under some sort of threat? Do you think we are?’
Gordian leaned back, shook his head. ‘I think, whatever happens, we do a pretty fair task of threatening each other much more than any outside menace.’
Ferranti closed his eyes, weakened. ‘That’s the second truest thing I’ve ever heard you say.’
The Crilshan smiled.
FORTY-SIX
‘HELLO AGAIN, HIGH Lord.’
Yux Dishan stepped foot off his craft and entered into the presence of the old gatekeeper of Hellfire. ‘Hello again, Retani.’
Silence and darkness around them. No movement. Only the sickening smell from below. ‘Months you’ve been gone, High Lord,’ the gatekeeper said. ‘Did you not receive my communication?’
‘I have had no access to comms.’
‘Then why return now?’
‘Because I have to.’
‘Because you have to find this Ruben Berenguer?’
‘Have you found him?’
‘Maybe. Who knows?’
‘What do you mean?’
The old man hobbled back into his fortified metal garrison: a small house, no larger than a shuttlecraft.
‘Old man, have you found him?’
‘No, High Lord.’ He threw his stick down. ‘You have.’
‘What?’
‘You mean to say you did not recognise me?’
The instant the the words were said, the connection made, Yux froze in shock. Then the old gatekeeper launched himself at Yux, and they both collapsed to the ground. His hands reached around Yux’s throat.
‘You’re . . . Ruben . . . Berenguer?’
Blood flushed to his face.
‘I am! I am!’
‘Don’t . . . wait . . .’
Yux threw his head forward, connecting with Berenguer and knocking him back. He drew out a blaster and aimed it at the fallen man.
‘Why didn’t you say four months ago?! We could have sorted this. We could have saved lives!’
‘You’re High Lord Yux Dishan! How can I trust you?!’
‘I am not my uncle!’
‘But you’re Crilshan! You’re Dishan, through and through!’
‘So certain, aren’t you, General?’
‘Don’t call me that!’
Berenguer lay
on his back, hands at his sides, succumbed. He looked as though he had aged twenty years in the space of five months. That, Yux imagined, was the curse of Hellfire, of a prison which killed a man slowly, starting with his hopes and his mind.
‘I’ve accepted the truth,’ Berenguer said. ‘I was shot. I died below Crilshar.’
‘No, you didn’t. Mokrikov healed you just before the end. His echo saved you, as Malizar focused on saving himself.’
‘Where is Mokrikov now?’
‘He has gone with Malizar to Earth. Pity will not save him. Nothing can save him now.’
‘I can’t remember what happened. Vasily . . . Aleksey. What happened to him?’
‘Dead. Lord Malizar killed him.’
‘I failed. He is impossible to kill.’
‘He is the Dark Lord. Perhaps it is not for us to do so.’
Berenguer’s eyes darted around him, searching, remembering. ‘Maxim . . . Maxim Pinzón . . . where is she?’
‘Maxim is down here with us. Somewhere. Malizar didn’t know what to do with her echo of immortality. He sent her down here to be trapped, forever. I swore to have your body burned. But I couldn’t. You were alive. Unconscious. So I put you in Maxim’s casket with her. You came down here with her.’
‘I don’t remember seeing her. She’s down there, somewhere?’
‘I doubt her mind is her own anymore,’ Yux said. ‘If the things you say about this place are true.’
Berenguer lay still where he was. ‘I learnt the hard way. I remember waking in a hard bed. Men woke me. Retanis. They recognised me, knew who I was, allowed me to stay here. Then they left me. I haven’t seen them since. I explored some, but never far from here. It appears to be a safe zone. The Retanis never returned. I didn’t see a soul for days on end. Then you came, searching for me. But I couldn’t trust you. I still can’t!’
‘You have to. Just as I have to trust you.’
‘I waited. I thought, so much. I sent a message on the wavelength you left. Why didn’t you come back? Did you give up your search so easily?’
‘I tried to come back here, Ruben. But I was summoned home. I was . . . assassinated.’
‘Ha! So I’m talking to a ghost now? This place has changed me, there’s no doubt of that. But talking to the dead—’
‘As far as my uncle is concerned, I am a ghost, yes. He believes me dead. I was on my way back here, weeks ago, when my uncle summoned me back to Crilshar. My vessel was shot down upon arrival. Wivartha wanted me out of the way. I was a nuisance, a threat. My vessel ruined upon contact with Crilshar’s surface. A handful of us survived, in hiding. They have remained with me, loyal to the end. There is more dissent among the Crilshan ranks than most believe. We can turn the tide of this war. We have only to remove my uncle, and save the Alignment survivors.’