Impostors

by Scott Westerfeld

  We’re going to kiss again.

  “Sir?” Zura’s voice comes. “Incoming!”

  I look up into the sky, blinking water from my eyes. That sound—it isn’t wind.

  It’s lifting fans beating the air.

  “Quick, Col. We have to …” But I’m not sure what there is to do.

  There’s no cover to hide behind. Col and I are half-naked, our sneak suits fused together into a tarp.

  The hovercar looms into sight, descending in a fury. Its six lifting fans drive the rain like a sudden gale.

  Zura is scrambling for her rifle, Col for his bow. But they’re not going to take down an armored hovercar.

  I gesture for my knife, but it must not be able to see me in the tempest. And I can’t remember where I left it. Too much kissing, not enough paranoia.

  We’re helpless.

  But as the car settles on the landing area, I realize that it’s not a warcraft. It’s a luxury limo, black and shiny.

  The same kind my father rides around in.

  I fall to my knees in the mud.

  “No.”

  The doors butterfly open, like great wings spreading out to shield the occupants from the rain.

  And they step out, like conquerors in a new world.

  Teo Palafox and his two friends.

  “Can you not get the seats muddy? This is a rental.”

  I stare at Srin. She looks about twelve years old, but she’s in the same year as Teo at his fancy school. So she’s either a teenager or some kind of prodigy.

  I sit down with a wet squelch. Srin’s gray eyes glare at me from beneath her short bobbed hair. Everything about her is neat and precise, from her school uniform to her arched eyebrows. But, like a quiet warning, her left little finger is surged to look like a tiny snake.

  The leather seat shifts beneath my weight, adapting to my body. After two nights’ sleep on hard ground, it feels like a feather bed.

  “You rented a limo and brought it into a war zone?” Col asks.

  “We’re not brain-missing,” Srin says. “We got insurance.”

  The three of them are arranged across the backseat—Teo, Srin, and Heron. They’re all still wearing their school’s uniform, dark blue sweaters and matching trousers, lilac shirts. Heron wears a dazed expression and a rumpled look, like he’s been sleeping in his clothes.

  The limo’s soft pink lighting glints from the champagne glasses lined up on racks. There’s a silver ice bucket next to my elbow.

  Col sinks into his own luxurious seat. “But why are you in a limo at all? Why aren’t there soldiers with you?”

  A minute ago, when Teo tumbled out to hug his older brother in the rain, he looked like a little kid. He’s skinnier than Col, his face softer and more open.

  But now he crosses his arms, all business.

  “I wanted to test the system first. Make sure the codebook wasn’t compromised before meeting anyone face-to-face.”

  Col just stares at him.

  “I knew you were out here somewhere,” Teo explains. “So we had to find you first. Because you could prove who you really were, using the sign.”

  “We didn’t want to walk into a trap,” Srin chimes in.

  “Wait,” Col says. “You have the codebook? Why isn’t Jefa running things?”

  Teo stares back across the car.

  “Mamá?” he says in a small voice. “She’s dead.”

  “But … she always has the book!”

  Teo shakes his head. “She gave it to me when I was here at winter break. To take back to school.”

  Col crumples into his seat.

  I take his hand, my brain spinning. This is why no one’s secured the family weapons back at the bunker. Why our only welcome here was a note left under a rock. Why we’re sitting in this ridiculous hovercar.

  Because a fourteen-year-old boy is commanding the Victorian army.

  Aribella Palafox is dead.

  “I’m sorry, Col.” Teo looks like a little kid again. “I figured she told you about giving me the book—that you’d know it was me.”

  Col’s hand is limp in mine, his eyes glassy.

  His words come slowly. “That means she was worried about what might happen. She had a bigger plan. Maybe she got out somehow!”

  “Col,” Teo says. “I was talking to her when the missile hit.”

  There’s no sound except the rain. I want to say something, but there isn’t enough air in my lungs. The limo seems like it’s shrinking, pressing in on us.

  It takes Teo a moment to speak again.

  “When she gave me the codebook, I thought it was just Jefa being Jefa. Giving me a lesson in responsibility. I kept it under my bed.”

  He stares at the rain-streaked window.

  “Then everything went brain-missing. It was early morning, still dark. And suddenly this noise wakes us up.”

  “We thought it was a fire alarm,” Heron says.

  “I’d forgotten all about the book,” Teo says. “But it was there, under my bed, screaming and blinking. So I ping Jefa and she answers right away, even though it’s midnight here at home. She says we’re under attack in the ruins, but it’s under control. Except Col’s being an idiot.”

  Col’s hand flinches in mine. “What?”

  “She said you were supposed to keep Rafia in line. But you’d gone off the rails. The tracker on your board said you were at the edge of the city. You were helping her escape.” Teo gives me a sideways look.

  I hold his gaze. He’s one more person I have to explain myself to. One more who’ll blame me for everything that’s gone wrong.

  “And you’re sure she was still there at the end?” Col pleads.

  Teo’s voice goes soft. “Suddenly there was this alarm in the background, and she went quiet. Wouldn’t answer when I asked what was going on. Then she said, ‘I love you,’ and there was a buzzing sound.”

  He slumps back in his seat.

  Heron puts an arm around Teo. “We figured she’d hung up, or lost the connection. But then we turned on the feeds—they kept showing it, again and again.”

  I close my eyes for a moment, and see the missile hit. That column of black smoke rising, scattering ashes on the wind.

  “That’s why we decided to disappear,” Srin says. “It was the only way to hit back.”

  Everyone looks at her.

  “Wait,” Col says. “You mean Jefa didn’t send someone for you?”

  “No. It was my idea.” Srin’s grim smile looks demented in the limo’s soft lighting. “Maximum reputational damage for the enemy. We trashed our rooms to make it look like we fought the kidnappers. Even left some blood.”

  She holds up a hand. In the limo’s pink lighting, I can see tiny scars on her fingertips.

  Col stares at her, wide-eyed. “Do your families know you’re okay?”

  “Only my sister,” Srin says. “She rented this limo, the leather of which your pants-missing friend is currently ruining. Byanca also chartered our cargo jet. Took a whole night to get across the ocean, but no one expects rich kids to travel in a cargo hold.”

  “But your parents—”

  “We’re dealing with a monster,” Srin says. “Sacrifices have to be made.”

  Teo leans forward. “She’s right, Col. This will hurt him. You’ve seen the feeds.”

  “But everyone thinks you’ve been kidnapped,” Col says to Heron and Srin. “Maybe killed!”

  “That’s the point!” Teo cries. “Why should we care about their feelings, Col? The other first families watched our home destroyed, our mother murdered, our city taken, and none of them did anything! Let them all be afraid!”

  There’s a moment of shocked silence in the car, ringing with the muffled rain and the echoes of Teo’s anger.

  Then Heron raises a hand. “Actually, I only came along to make sure Teo doesn’t do anything stupid. And can I point out that no one said anything about war zones?”

  “It didn’t say ‘war zone’ on the map,” Teo
mutters.

  Col swears.

  “Speaking of wars, sir,” Zura says from the open limo door. “Now that we have transport, we might want to get out of rebel territory.”

  For a moment, Col looks lost. He’s had his world turned inside out twice in the last few days. Maybe three times—I’ve lost count. But he understands now that we’ve been fooling ourselves.

  His mother is gone.

  I take a steadying breath. “Col, maybe we should get these kids somewhere safe.”

  “Kids?” Srin says.

  “Right. Pack up the camp,” Col orders Zura, then turns to his little brother. “We can get a Victorian warcraft to escort us. Give me the codebook.”

  Teo stares at his older brother defiantly, his face still red from yelling.

  Then he looks at me.

  “Not till you tell me what she’s doing here.”

  Everyone’s looking at me.

  Even Zura hesitates at the door, like she’s waited too long for this story to walk away now.

  “You’re her, aren’t you?” Teo says. “Rafia.”

  “Except muddy and without pants,” Srin adds.

  Heron leans forward. “Which is why that other Rafia—the one on the feeds—hasn’t done any interviews yet. She’s an impostor!”

  It still feels too soon. Too huge. Too dangerous.

  But there’s no escaping the truth.

  “It’s the other way around. I’m the impostor.”

  The three of them are silent for a moment.

  I let it soak in, for them and for me.

  It’s uncanny, having people I don’t know staring at me, stunned, seeing what I really am. Like the ground is tilting under us all. Like they’re all going to disappear tomorrow.

  I wish I had more clothes on.

  “Weird,” Zura says. “I’ll go pack up.”

  She turns away and disappears into the rain.

  “No way.” Srin looks at Col. “If this girl was an impostor, your security would’ve spotted her surgery. I mean, it’s pretty good, but a quick DNA check—”

  “We checked her DNA,” Col says, then falls silent.

  He wants me to tell it myself.

  So I start talking.

  “I’m Rafia’s sister, born twenty-six minutes later.” I listen to the rain for a moment. “Her body double. Her protector. Her identical twin.”

  Her only friend.

  The only one who can save her.

  “I was a trick to play on your family, Teo. Because unlike the real Rafia, I was something my father could throw away.”

  He stares at me. I’m expecting hatred in his eyes, or another scream from the bottom of his soul as he realizes everything I’ve cost him.

  But all he says is—

  “What’s your name?”

  “Frey.” It comes out of my mouth in a whisper.

  His expression changes then, and I see how much he looks like Aribella.

  Because he pities me. Like she did.

  Pity isn’t something I’m ready for at all.

  He says, “My brother would’ve been there when the missile hit, except for you. Right?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Thank you, Frey,” he says softly.

  A layer of guilt slips from my shoulders.

  Col leans forward. “Heron, Srin, you two have to keep this secret after you get home. Which will be as soon as possible.”

  Srin stares at him a moment, then starts laughing.

  “Are you brain-missing, Col? You can’t keep her a secret. Imagine the reputational damage!”

  Heron turns to her. “Seriously, girl? Is it that much worse than kidnapping me and you?”

  “Way worse. You’re just a roommate who got in the way. I’m some kid from Teo’s propaganda class.” Srin points at me. “But Frey is her father’s own flesh and blood, sacrificed to start a war!”

  “Stop,” Col says. “This isn’t your propaganda class, Srin. It’s not your story to tell.”

  “But you can’t send us home!” Srin turns to me, pleading. “Once people see us back with our families, the outrage fades. We lose momentum. Everything goes back to normal!”

  Normal—I hear it in my sister’s voice.

  “That’s what everyone wants,” Srin says. “To pretend that things are okay. But, Frey, you can make them pay attention.”

  I try to answer, but I can’t.

  Me and Col using my story against my father was one thing. But hearing a stranger plot and strategize and calculate how damaging it will be—it feels like being an impostor again.

  Col puts a hand on my shoulder, and the world steadies a little.

  “You two are going home,” he says.

  “Really?” Srin smiles sweetly at him. “Limo, who holds your proxy ownership?”

  “You do, General Srin,” the limo says.

  “And you won’t go anywhere unless I tell you to?”

  “That’s correct, General.”

  There’s a moment of impasse, but then Teo speaks up.

  “Srin, my brother’s right. You guys can do more for us from home. Tell everyone what it was like that night, how we ran away, fearing for my safety. Don’t let them forget Victoria. Be the face of the resistance!”

  “I guess that sounds bubbly,” Srin mutters. “A shower might also be nice.”

  “Same,” Heron says.

  He looks like he’s willing to go back to school, but Srin gave up too easily. I wonder if she’s got another trick up her sleeve.

  Teo turns his eyes to me, then to his brother.

  “Col, do you really trust her?”

  “Frey saved my life more than once. She fought beside our soldiers. And she’s the only person in the world who hates her father as much as we do.”

  “Except Rafi,” I murmur.

  “All right, Frey.” Teo holds out his hand. “If Col trusts you, I do too. Welcome to Victorian High Command.”

  “Also known as my limo,” Srin grumbles.

  We shake.

  “Now,” Col says, “will you please give me the codebook?”

  Teo sighs, reaching under his seat to pull out a valise. It looks a lot like Rafi’s favorite—alligator skin, brass fittings, retina locks.

  He balances it on his lap, blinks it open.

  “Don’t let power go to our head, big brother.” Teo pulls out a metal slate the size of a handscreen. “And be careful. This thing is noisy—it broadcasts all the way to the satellites. So if you don’t want to get spotted, send your orders on the move, or someplace with a lot of random signals. Like a city.”

  “Got it.” Col takes the codebook solemnly.

  When he holds it up, light flashes across his face. He flinches as it takes a nip of skin for DNA matching.

  A moment later, the device says, “You have command, Col Palafox.”

  His expression changes then—the exhaustion, the grief and sorrow fading a little. He looks like someone ready to take revenge.

  Teo only looks relieved to give up the responsibility. He turns his open valise around to face me.

  “Want some clothes, Frey? They might fit you.”

  I look at the three runaways in their school uniforms, their lilac shirts glowing in the soft limo lighting, and shake my head.

  “I’ll just wear my sneak suit.”

  Heron raises an eyebrow. “Those things don’t look very comfortable.”

  “They aren’t.” I give him a tired smile. “But you never know when a battle’s going to break out.”

  The limo takes off in a roar, the windows blurring as it lifts up through the rain. But a minute later we break through the clouds and into sunlight. Shadows gyre across the floor as we veer west, out of the mountains, away from Victoria and Shreve.

  I’d almost forgotten that flying could be luxurious. The seat is comfortable even in my damp sneak suit, and the limo rides as smoothly as any in my father’s fleet.

  It also has food. Yucca and truffled cheese croquettes. Crispy dum
plings filled with duck and black mole. All of it cooked with real heat, popping out steaming from the panels in the walls.

  “Want some bubbly with that?” Srin asks.

  She’s probably being sarcastic, but I don’t care. “Is there any water?”

  “Not since last night. Heron used it all for a bath.”

  “I’d hardly call that a bath,” Heron says. “More like a sponging.”

  “This thing doesn’t collect rain?” Zura glares at the flight controls, which are locked on autopilot. “There’s water in your suit bladders, Frey.”

  “Great. But do you have to call them bladders?”

  I find the drinking tube on my shoulder, wrest it free from its clasp, and put it to my lips. The water tastes normal enough.

  “Mmmm, body temperature.”

  At least it’s not my own purified sweat—or worse. But after a couple of days being thirsty, I can see why commandos wear these things. The deadliest part of the wild isn’t snakes or scorpions. It’s thirst and hunger.

  Also jump mines.

  Col must be starving too, but he’s not eating. His eyes are locked on the codebook airscreen.

  Maybe planning a war is easier than thinking about his mother in that house when the missile hit. Or his brother watching it happen over and over on the feeds, unable to change a thing.

  I should say something comforting, but I don’t have the words. My own mother was murdered before I was born. She’s only ever been a figment on a screen, a face in which Rafi and I found pieces of our own. Her smile, always wide like ours, her thin hands as we got older.

  So, in a way, I could never lose her.

  All I can think to ask Col is, “Have you decided where to take them?”

  “We can make it to Paz before dark. Spy dust is illegal there, and the council hates Shreve. It’s the perfect place to send out orders.” Col turns to his brother. “How much of our army’s left? The codebook isn’t telling me.”

  Teo looks up from eating. “I don’t know. Anytime a unit transmits, there’s a chance they could get spotted. I never asked for a head count.”

  Col frowns. “So what’ve they been doing all this time?”

  “We sent out a general order to hide,” Srin says. “I told Teo we should coordinate a few attacks, but he was too chicken.”

  “No, that was smart.” Col turns to Zura. “But now we need to find out how much of an army we have. What’s the safest way to do that?”