Impostors

by Scott Westerfeld

  “Pick a rally point and assemble everyone. See for ourselves what we’ve got to work with.”

  Col’s eyes light up. “I know just the place.”

  He turns back to the codebook. Its airscreen is about the size of a soccer ball. In the swirling cloud of data I can make out a map of the mountains, a few glowing cities, and a moving dot that must be us.

  “By the way, Supreme Commander,” Srin says, “didn’t we send a light attack car to find you? It is conspicuously missing.”

  Col doesn’t look up. “Destroyed in combat. We ran into jump mines.”

  “Mines? Were you taking a walk?”

  “Yes. And you brought a rented limo into rebel territory.”

  “But we didn’t lose it,” Srin says.

  Col doesn’t answer, but I can see Zura holding her tongue, weighing whether Teo’s friend from propaganda class is someone she’s allowed to punch.

  So I speak up, softly and clearly.

  “Srin, the soldiers who served on that car fought valiantly, but they were killed. That’s how wars work—people die. Which is why we’re taking you home.”

  Her eyes spark, like she’s about to argue, until Heron puts a hand on her arm. She settles back into her seat and mutters, “Still my limo.”

  The car falls silent, and Zura gives me the barest nod of thanks.

  Col stays focused on the airscreen, waving his fingers. He looks uncertain, like a littlie learning how to use interface gestures for the first time.

  Suddenly it’s hard to believe that he’s really in charge of an army, or even what’s left of one. How can a guerrilla war be waged by a seventeen-year-old boy, from something that looks like a game screen?

  My whole life, I always thought that I was the only impostor. That everyone else was certain they were real in some way that I could never understand. But what if they’re all just faking too?

  Maybe none of us know who we really are.

  The sun is setting when we spot the Pacific Ocean.

  We’re tired and bored after long hours in the limo. The feeds aren’t telling us anything new, just rehashing the outrage about Teo and his two friends being missing. There’s no real news out of Victoria. Reporters from other cities have been expelled, the locals silenced.

  The whole city has gone dark. Tens of thousands of feeds—arguing politics, gossiping, sharing music and makeup tips—all of it has been wiped from the global interface.

  Srin was right—Rafi hasn’t appeared in public since that first day of the war. Everyone’s noticed she’s not being a good daughter. And saying that this time our father has gone so far that it’s turned even his own blood against him.

  I love that Rafi’s fighting him, because she thinks he killed me with that missile. But I hate it that she thinks I’m dead.

  I have to get word to her somehow, even if it gives our father warning that I’m still out here.

  Col finally switches from the newsfeeds, turning to a nature doc about the white weed. We all watch in sullen fascination.

  The weed is an artificial orchid that the Rusties unleashed three centuries ago. It almost crowded out all other plant life on earth, taking over farms and fields and prairies. Slashing, burning, and poisoning the weed failed. Only the old-growth forests were strong enough to resist.

  “Rusty scientists engineered birds to eat it,” Col adds to the grim commentary. “But they just spread the seeds in their droppings.”

  I wonder why he’s obsessing about the weed. Maybe because people thought it couldn’t be defeated, until a global effort got it under control.

  Or maybe he’s begun to admire things that can’t be killed, no matter how hard everyone tries.

  On the western plains below us, the weed is strewn like fresh snow. But the city of Paz sits on Baja Island, protected by a barrier of salt water.

  As night falls, we cross the still blue straits and land outside the city, next to a train line. The quiet passenger station sits among a row of simple houses with gardens and low stone walls.

  I remember my father joking about Paz, the city with no first family, where everyone’s happy. Like that’s such a bad thing.

  We tumble out onto the station platform to stretch our legs.

  “You want us to take a train?” Srin says. “Not a very dramatic entrance.”

  “Maybe quiet is better,” Heron says. “Faking our own kidnapping seems kind of illegal.”

  “Just tell them you ran away,” Col says. “You feared for your safety. Tell the Paz wardens that you want sanctuary … for all three of you.”

  “Wait,” Teo says. “Three of us?”

  “Yes.” Col crosses his arms. “You’re safer here than out fighting a guerrilla war. And you’ll get more news coverage than your friends. You were right before—someone needs to be the face of Victoria. But it should be you, Teo.”

  “Forget that.” Teo clenches his fists. “I’m not going to be the mascot for your war, Col.”

  “You don’t understand how dangerous this is. I’d already be dead if it weren’t for Frey and Zura.”

  “Which is why you need my help too!” Teo cries. He looks at me. “You don’t think I should hide, do you, Frey?”

  For a moment, I’m not sure what to say. I don’t want to argue against Col, but I can’t imagine being pushed aside either. The only meaning my life has ever had is in training, fighting, and protecting those I love.

  That’s what kept me whole when all my bones were being broken. How can I take that away from Teo?

  “You might be safer with us,” I tell him.

  Col stares at me. “What do you mean?”

  It takes me a second to understand it myself, but then I turn and take his hands.

  “My sister hasn’t given any interviews yet. Why do you think that is?”

  He shrugs. “Because she’s angry at your father? Because she thinks you’re dead?”

  “No, Col.” I lean closer, speak softer. “It’s what you told me in the bunker—Rafi’s been falling apart since she was seven, because all she had was speeches and handshakes, and not someone she could protect. When the assassin came, I could save her. But she could never save me.”

  Col stares at me. “But Teo’s only fourteen. I have to protect him.”

  “Exactly. Which means letting him protect you.”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t under—”

  “You don’t have a choice,” Srin cuts in.

  Col wheels on her. “Would you please stay out of this!”

  “Limo,” she says calmly, “secure doors.”

  Beside us, the vast wings of the limo’s doors fold up. Then the blue light of a security perimeter shines down on the station platform.

  “Here’s the deal.” Srin adjusts her school sweater, as if she’s about to give a speech. “You can take Teo back to the war, along with my limo. Or you can sit here with no transport, waiting for the Paz wardens to pick you up.”

  “Wardens? We’re not breaking any laws.”

  Srin smiles. “You’re registered combatants in a neutral city, equipped with sniper rifles, grenades, sneak suits.”

  “Um, sir?” Zura says. “That’s all technically true.”

  “But Paz is on our side!” Col cries.

  “Unofficially, yes,” Srin says. “But once a complaint’s on the record, they’ll go by the rules of neutrality—and impound you all for the rest of the war. Paz isn’t going to risk getting dragged into a fight with a missile-flinging maniac!”

  Col sighs. “And who’s making this complaint?”

  “Limo. Transmit in thirty seconds.”

  “Yes, General Srin,” the limo says.

  Heron shakes his head. “Trust me. Don’t call her bluff.”

  “Just ignore her,” I say. “But let your brother stay in the fight.”

  “I just lost my mother … again.” Col’s voice is breaking. “I can’t lose him too.”

  “He can’t lose you either. You need each other right now.�
��

  “Twenty seconds,” Srin says.

  Col takes a slow breath, his eyes closed.

  Tears are coming down his face. I can guess what he’s seeing in his head—that missile coming down on his home, over and over in an endless loop.

  “Fight together,” I say.

  “Ten seconds.”

  “Okay!” Col’s cry echoes through the empty station. “Just do it.”

  “Cancel that order, Limo,” Srin says calmly. “Transfer control of your rental proxy to Teo Palafox. And buy me and Heron tickets on the next train into town.”

  “Of course, General Srin. It’s been a pleasure serving you.”

  We spend the night on the southern tip of Baja Island, in a sea of solar panels the size of playing cards.

  Our limo’s almost out of charge, and the main batteries for Paz are in the ground below us, so we jack in overnight before heading to the rally point Col has chosen for what remains of the Victorian army.

  I sleep with him out under the stars. The breezes blow cool off the ocean, and we hold each other for warmth. In the middle of the night I feel him crying. Silent shudders rack his body, his last hope for his mother dying in the contractions of his heart.

  I try to comfort him with whispers, uncertain if they’re lost in the roar from the surf. It’s better than thinking about Rafi alone in her room—alone in her grief, with no friends who even knew she had a sister.

  When dawn breaks at last, the field of solar panels stirs around us. Each has six legs, to move and angle themselves as needed as the day goes on. Now they’re all tilting together toward the red glimmers in the east, like flowers waiting for the sun.

  One of the panels has crawled onto my wadded-up sneak suit, questing for more light. I place it gently on the ground.

  Pulling on my suit, I realize that it fits me better now. It’s learning the shape of my body. Or maybe it’s because I’ve gotten rid of my nightshirt underneath. The liquid weight of the dew collected overnight feels reassuring.

  With water and my knife, I can survive the wild.

  I kneel beside Col. “You awake?”

  A murmur comes from his lips, and I lean closer to kiss them. His eyes spring open.

  “Frey?”

  “Expecting someone else?”

  He smiles, sits up. The tiny machines around us skitter out of his shadow. The sun is igniting the horizon now, turning the host of solar panels into a dark ruby sea.

  We pause to watch the dawn—the sun pulling itself up, light rippling across the panels as they drink in energy, the world shifting from crimson to orange.

  “Look,” Col says. “You’re beautiful.”

  “What do you … ?” I look down.

  My suit’s in camo mode, matching the solar panels around us. I shimmer like stained glass, a hundred reflections of the dawn mapped onto my body.

  Col kisses me, and we stay there until the sugary smells of pastries and sweet coffee spill from the open limo doors.

  Teo and Zura are eating breakfast inside.

  Teo’s school uniform looks more rumpled than ever, but Zura’s fatigues are still immaculate.

  She doesn’t waste time. “Morning, sir. Units should be arriving at the rally point by now. We’re fully recharged.”

  “Then let’s head south,” Col says, taking a cup of coffee. “Care to do the honors, little brother?”

  “Limo, head to programmed destination,” Teo orders, beaming at us as the lifting fans begin to spin.

  I smile back at him. Srin only gave him the limo’s proxy to make sure Col keeps his word, but it gives Teo a role in the fight against my father.

  As we lift into the air, I look out the window.

  From this height, the solar panels glint like bright, rippling water. The sun is fully risen now, the reds and oranges fading into reflected blue sky.

  “Something’s happening,” Col says from the next window. “Over the city.”

  I squint through the sunlight.

  A fleet of hovercars is rising from the center of Teo. They spiral into the air, flinging out in all directions like a wheel of fireworks.

  Zura joins us at the windows. “That looks like a search pattern.”

  “Anything to do with us?” Col asks.

  “Limo,” Teo says. “Local newsfeed.”

  An airscreen fills the center of the cabin.

  At first it’s just images of warden hovercars, and the Spanish is too rapid for me. But then the screen fills with the smiling, triumphant face of Srin. Heron stands beside her, looking faintly embarrassed.

  “Uh-oh,” I say. “Anyone care to translate?”

  Col sighs. “She says they were kidnapped by your father. That they made a daring escape.”

  “I knew she wouldn’t stick with the truth,” Teo says. “It’s not dramatic enough!”

  I shake my head. “So those wardens are looking for kidnappers. Can this thing go any faster?”

  “Limo?” Teo says. “Maximum speed, please.”

  “We are traveling at the maximum safe speed, sir.”

  “Yeah, but we want to go at an unsafe speed. It’s, um, a medical emergency?”

  “Correcting course,” the limo says. “The nearest hospital is—”

  “Don’t turn back!” Teo cries. “I need my … pills. Which are only available at the destination. Please go there at top speed!”

  The limo considers this a moment. “You will require liability—”

  “Put it on the account!”

  The pitch of the lifting fans increases.

  “Rentals,” mutters Zura.

  I raise my hands for calm. “What can the Paz wardens do to us? We didn’t really kidnap Srin and Heron.”

  “They’ll find our weapons,” Zura says. “And when the limo spills its records, they’ll know we spent last night jacking the city power grid. They’ll have to impound us.”

  Teo leans back. “Yes, this would be a bad situation, if we were in some armored hovercar. But they won’t be looking for kidnappers in a rented—”

  “Apologies, sir,” the limo says. “We are stopping under official orders from the Paz constabulary.”

  The lifting fans shift in pitch again.

  Col sighs. “You were saying?”

  “Override that?” Teo tries. “Keep going toward … my very important pills?”

  “I cannot override local wardens,” the limo says.

  “Who comes to a war in a rented limousine?” Col shouts into the air.

  “Col,” I say. “We need a real hovercar. This is our chance.”

  He shakes his head. “If we attack Paz, that’s one less ally.”

  “They’ll never know it was us, sir.” Zura turns from the window. She makes a few gestures, and her sneak suit camo shifts to black-and-gray Shreve combat livery.

  My brain starts to spin. This I understand.

  Being an impostor is what I was born to do.

  And suddenly I know how to catch the wardens off guard, how to hurt my father, and how to get what I want more than anything else.

  “I’ll steal you that car,” I say. “Just let me do the talking.”

  The limo lands when we reach the edge of the mainland.

  When the doors open, a cool ocean breeze fills the cabin. This clifftop overlooks the Baja Sea, which is ashine with morning light. Screeching gulls surround us for a moment, but soon they’re scattered by the roar of lifting fans.

  The warden car comes down ten meters away. It’s half the size of the limo, not much armor or weaponry, built for speed and quick turns.

  Three wardens get out, looking bored at first, like they don’t expect to find anything nefarious in this fancy car. But then they notice the mud on the limo’s skids, the streaks from yesterday’s rain. One of them puts a hand on the stunner in her holster.

  When I step out into the sunlight, they’re all stunned.

  I’ve set my sneak suit to replay its camo from half an hour ago—the brilliant dawn captured in
a million solar panels. It looks like something Rafi would design, a formfitting bodysuit for the most avant-garde of parties.

  All my years of pretending flow back into the muscles of my body, my face.

  “Good morning, officers,” I say in my best Rafi voice. “Or is it afternoon? I hope you’ve come to arrest my hangover. I’ve just been to the most battery-draining party in your lovely city.”

  None of them speaks.

  Rafi’s never been to Paz, which my father hates for its happiness-loving, elected government. She doesn’t travel without bodyguards, or talk to commoners.

  “Ma’am,” one of them finally sputters. “We’re authorized to search all—”

  “Be my guest.” I gesture toward the limo. “But please don’t impound my coffeemaker. I need it desperately.”

  “Uh, thank you.” As he walks past, his eyes lock onto mine in disbelief. My smile is perfect Rafi.

  Then Teo sticks his head out, surprising the warden. At the same moment, Zura comes bounding over the top of the limo, her sneak suit set to Shreve combat livery.

  Her leap carries her to the warden midway between me and their car, crumpling her with a kick to her stomach.

  I kidney-strike the man beside me. He staggers, and I take him in a sleeper hold until he crumples to the ground.

  Spinning around, I see the last warden falling to Zura’s blows.

  She turns to us, smiling. “Well, that was easier than—”

  An arc of lightning shoots from the warden car, and Zura shudders and falls. There’s a stun cannon on the car’s roof.

  My knife leaps into my hand, and I hurl it at the warden car. The stun cannon explodes into a shower of metal pieces and discharged electricity.

  The knife weaves its way home to my hand, hot and sparking.

  Col and Teo are out of the limo now, running toward the warden car. Teo’s carrying his suitcases and Col has the sniper rifle and his bow.

  I stand ready with my knife. I can’t see any more weapons mounted on the car. But if the hovercar’s AI is allowed to stun people, it must be smart enough to fly itself away.