Scions of Sacrifice

by Eric Kent Edstrom

  It had to be Dante. He’d wanted to turn himself in. And he’d seen Captain Wilcox in Casino San Juan. Exactly how he’d gotten in touch with the crotchety soldier, Jacey had no idea.

  A bee-like buzz came from behind her, far away. She glanced back, but saw nothing in the field.

  She needed a place to hide, get her thoughts together. Meow Meow might have Siggy’s pistol, but she was still outgunned. Wilcox wouldn’t go anywhere unarmed, and neither would his men.

  She peeked under the van to count feet. She recognized Meow Meow’s boots and Dante’s brown leather shoes. The hem of Lily’s muumuu wavered in the wind. She wore flip-flops. Captain Wilcox wore denim jeans and brown boots with red laces.

  Odd. Wilcox didn’t have any guards with him. At least, none in view. Maybe they’d set up a perimeter around this little rendezvous spot. Jacey scanned the terrain of the field. Maybe they were in the trees. But why would they stay back? They had the numbers and weapons. There was no reason for stealth in this situation.

  Lily: “I said get her out of my van.”

  The van rocked as Lily got in. “Okay, sweetie. Time to—She’s gone!”

  Jacey sprinted toward the trees. Her feet sank into freshly tilled soil. Clumps of black earth stuck to her feet, slowing her. A cry rose behind her.

  The buzzing she heard earlier suddenly rose. She stumbled to a stop as a drone swarm lifted from the trees ahead. Each drone was a black speck. There were thousands of them. Enough to form a cloud-like flock.

  “Jacey! Come back and get in.” Meow Meow was shouting and waving an arm as she dashed toward the van.

  Captain Wilcox stepped around the vehicle, drawing a weapon from under his blue, zippered jacket. His outfit made him look like a normal man. Almost.

  “They’ve spotted you,” Wilcox shouted at Jacey. “Come with me. I’ll take you to Dr. Carlhagen.” He waved toward a black truck parked a hundred meters down the road. It crouched upon huge knobby tires. A row of yellow lights was mounted to the top and a thick grill of black metal bars hung on the front, giving the machine a mean appearance.

  Bogged with clumps of wet soil, Jacey made no move in either direction. “You’re all liars.”

  Dante stood on the edge of the road. “I know it looks bad, but we didn’t plan this.”

  “Come on, Jacey,” Wilcox called, voice heavy with command.

  “You’ll just drag me back to St. Vitus.”

  The swarm slid through the air toward Jacey, its form elongating. The buzz grew louder.

  “No I won’t,” Wilcox called back. “The senator’s forces hold the island now. Dr. Carlhagen doesn’t want any of you there until the navy clears out.” He raised the weapon to his right eye. It was different than the guns Jacey had seen before. Fatter, with a barrel that flared like the bell of a trumpet.

  “Get in the van,” Meow Meow said, waving her pistol.

  “No!” Lily screamed. “I don’t want anything to do with any of you. Stay out!”

  The pistol froze, aimed at Lily.

  Dante backed toward Wilcox. “Wilcox is the most expedient choice, Jacey. Go with him. You said you wanted to find that child. He’ll take you to her.”

  The drone swarm swept toward them. Countless individuals formed into a black shadow. Flashes of energy sparked among them like lightning in a storm cloud. A pod of drones emerged from the central mass, then separated. It flew straight for Jacey, sweeping low and gaining speed.

  Her body reacted before conscious thought. Despite the mud weighing down her feet, she scrambled back toward the road. The inky swarm herded her, humming with an anger she knew it couldn’t possess, but which she felt anyway. A single drone flew close to her face, micro-propellers a blur. A glint of glass protruded from beneath it. A camera.

  Jacey swatted at it, but it danced sideways. It returned instantly.

  She recalled Meow Meow’s lesson about drone swarms. This one had been assigned pest duty. And if she did manage to knock it away, surely another would take its place.

  Fine. She’d ignore it.

  She stopped to wipe sweat from her eyes. The road was a few meters away.

  Electric shocks stabbed between her shoulder blades. She turned, furious. Another shock lanced her thigh, and still another took her in the calf.

  Crying out, she plodded the rest of the way to the road. The swarm herded her away from the van, away from Wilcox and Dante.

  Once she was in the center of the road, her swarm formed a tight circle, no more than a meter in diameter, centered on her head. The swarm wheeled continuously, the drones moving so quickly they were a charcoal blur. Only one remained mostly stationary, her pest, which still hovered a few centimeters from her nose. The slight wind of its micro-prop downdraft ruffled her shirt.

  Wilcox and Dante both had their own little swarms and pests now, too.

  Judging by the sounds coming from the van, a few had gotten inside. But Jacey couldn’t see if Meow Meow had gotten the door closed or not.

  The remainder of the machines had formed a similar wheel, with the van as its center.

  Wilcox stood very still, hand gripping his odd weapon. A drone slipped toward his hand. An arc of blue shot out from the tiny aircraft, striking Wilcox’s hand. He dropped the weapon and swore.

  “Can you get to the van?” Meow Meow yelled from inside the vehicle.

  “No!” Jacey called back. Just to touch the van would require a ten meter run. The drones would light up her skeleton if she took one step toward it.

  She studied the pest. Such a dainty little machine. Like a maniacal little hummingbird. If she could get it in her fist, she was certain she could crush it and toss it over her shoulder, never to fly again. But they packed a wallop of energy, and she wasn’t willing to take any more shocks.

  “So I take it these aren’t your drones,” Dante called to Wilcox. The drones had separated Dante from the soldier, but the men were facing each other.

  Wilcox’s face was red with fury. “No. They have to be IPA drones. Which means the IPA will have boots on the ground in a few minutes.”

  He squatted and grabbed his weapon. He fired off a squealing shot. A dozen drones fell and clanked on the pavement like tin cans. The remaining drones retaliated with ruthless electric shocks. Blue plasma flashed between the swarm and his head, his chest, his legs, his groin. To his credit, he stayed on his feet. Spittle flew from his lips as he heaved a gut-wrenching curse. The single word went on and on and on.

  When the drones let up, he sagged, breath heaving. The weapon again lay on the road.

  Whatever that gun was, it had taken out some drones. But the drones knew what it was, which was why they’d made him drop it in the first place.

  “Well, we’re up a river without a motor now,” Dante said.

  A new sound was cutting through the cacophony of the drone swarms. This was a lower pitch, and it pounded the air with a familiar beat. A helicopter.

  Jacey turned, making sure to keep her feet in the same spot so the drones wouldn’t retaliate. The chopper came from the west.

  Shrieks burst from the van and it lurched forward. Meow Meow screamed for Lily to stop. The van jerked to a stop, boxy chassis wobbling, then falling still.

  “Get the hell out of my van!” Lily bellowed. “I don’t want anything to do with all this.”

  “Shut up!” Meow Meow screamed. “Do. Not. Move. The. Van!” It didn’t matter that Meow Meow was inside the van and not standing right next to Jacey. The energy of her shouts made Jacey duck her head.

  Wilcox’s voice drew Jacey’s attention. “That’s not my chopper.”

  Dante was squinting toward the low-flying aircraft. It was approaching fast, but was angled slightly away from them.

  “Where are your men, Wilcox?” Jacey said. “Why aren’t they helping you?”

  “I came alone.”

  “You’re alone?” She’d never seen Captain Wilcox arrive anywhere without several men as backup.

  “They were . . .
injured.” His face darkened at the memory.

  “Siggy’s men shot them in the hotel,” Dante said. “That has to sting, doesn’t it my darling mercenary?”

  Meow Meow was still shouting at Lily, who was shouting back. Suddenly the van launched ahead, rear wheels shrieking on the pavement. Meow Meow tumbled out the side door and rolled onto the gravel shoulder of the road. Smoke spewed from the tires as the van’s rear-end fishtailed side to side.

  “That isn’t smart,” Wilcox said.

  The van abruptly swerved left, tilting onto two wheels.

  The front end jerked right, bringing it back onto all fours. But momentum kept it going until it leaned hard onto its left wheels.

  And then it went over, rolling onto its roof, then wheels, then roof. Sparks shot from the road beneath it, and the soul-rending sound of tearing metal pierced the air. The van skidded to a stop, still upside down, smoke tendrils climbing from the wreckage like ghosts struggling to escape hell.

  In a flash of orange, the vehicle exploded. The concussion smacked Jacey in the chest and face, knocking her into her own swarm. Tiny drones skittered across her skull.

  A bone-deep boom demolished all thoughts, all hearing.

  Then she was flat on her back, the world silent.

  The blue sky swam with faint white clouds, like a filmy veil. The sun-warmed road oozed sleepiness into Jacey’s limbs and mind. Only her heart seemed to remember the danger, for it pounded and pounded. Like the beat of helicopter blades.

  Hands found Jacey, tugged at her.

  Meow Meow’s face appeared above her, mouth open, shouting something. She had such beautiful, even teeth. Her makeup was running, all that red dripping down her face, onto her hands. Too much makeup. Why did she wear so much red?

  Dante was there, too. He was shouting, but looking past Jacey, somewhere behind her that she couldn’t see.

  The world tilted as they lifted her.

  She tried to put her weight on her own feet. Something crunched under her shoes. Like stepping on dried beetles.

  Drones. Everywhere drones. They covered the ground in clumps stretching down the road. All the way to the black truck.

  Wilcox was on his knees. He was looking at his hands. Covered in blood.

  Meow Meow’s little hands were crushing Jacey’s arm. How had she gotten so strong?

  Dante had his hand around her waist, carrying most of her weight as she stumbled. Her head felt watery, like the one time Dr. Carlhagen had given her wine at dinner.

  “Humphrey threw up,” she shouted. “In the bougainvilleas, he told me.” She couldn’t hear her own voice, and her throat burned from the effort to get the words out.

  Her friends were urging her forward, toward Wilcox’s truck. Friends. Dante had lied to her, betrayed her. He was giving her up. Dante didn’t care. Meow Meow didn’t have any other ideas.

  Dante held her close. His body was warm. Meow Meow had said he was in love with her. How could that be? She amused him. How could Jacey ever feel anything but hatred for a Progenitor? He was going to give her to Wilcox. To Dr. Carlhagen.

  A scream entered her consciousness through her right ear. Meow Meow. How did such a tiny thing have such a huge voice? “The chopper! Not IPA. Run.”

  Jacey tried to look back, but the motion made her vision spin and her stomach churn.

  Dante opened the passenger door of Wilcox’s truck and threw her in. Meow Meow appeared across from her, taking the driver’s seat. Dante pressed Jacey farther in, then slammed the door. Jacey read his lips as he shouted, “Go! Go! Go!”

  The truck shuddered, the horizon spun crazily. The vibration of the wheels on the road made Jacey’s body shake, but she could hear nothing. Her body felt nothing except nausea.

  “I’m going to throw up,” she said.

  And then she did.

  23

  That Image of his Face

  “Summer says Athena is just about ready,” Humphrey said to Orson. They sat across from each other in the dining hall of what was once called Justin’s School, but which the Scions had started calling “Borington,” because there was nothing to do. Between the two men lay the paper map they had been using as a navigational aid aboard Aphrodite.

  Orson’s face bunched up in a dismissive smirk. “Changing the ship’s name won’t fool the navy.”

  “That’s why Summer repainted her and removed the rear winch. She won’t look like Aphrodite from afar.”

  The man’s beard and mustache caved in as he sucked in his lips. “Won’t matter. The navy will see right through all that. Their sonar men will have records of what Aphrodite’s engines sounded like.”

  Humphrey doubted Orson knew what he was talking about. He just didn’t want to help Humphrey get to Dr. Carlhagen’s island. There was a real risk of being boarded again, despite Summer’s efforts. And if they found Orson on the navigation bridge, his future would shorten considerably.

  Humphrey decided to pretend Orson hadn’t said anything at all. “Summer’s hoisting a small boat aboard Athena right now. To tell you the truth, I think she’s just looking for things to lift with that crane of yours. If she could figure out a way to do it, she’d put that crane on the boat.”

  Orson looked at him, face blank.

  Humphrey turned his attention back to the map. Placing his finger on Mr. Justin’s Island—an unlabeled blob of green in a sea of blue—he slid his finger south in search of Dr. Carlhagen’s hideout. St. Lazarus. It wasn’t there.

  Could Vaughan be wrong about it?

  No. Vaughan had access to better maps, more current ones. He said the island didn’t show up on all of them.

  “A hundred kilometers,” Humphrey mused. “That’s not too far.”

  Orson grunted, noncommittal. “Distance is relative. If it’s calm seas and you’re not being chased by a fleet of naval vessels, a hundred klicks is nothing. Matter of a few hours sailing.”

  The fleet. Humphrey tapped the screen of a reader he had borrowed from one of the younger Scions who was helping Summer paint Athena.

  “Vaughan? Do you have a moment?”

  Vaughan’s face appeared on the screen. “I’ve been listening,” he said, by way of greeting. “I am still working to get access to satellite imagery of Mr. Justin’s Island. The security guarding that data isn’t merely electronic, it seems. The military’s practice is to hold intelligence information on isolated computer systems, disconnected from the net.”

  “So we are totally blind to the movements of that fleet, too,” Humphrey said. “But someone has to know. There are civilian ships all over the place. They must see the fleet.”

  “That’s an interesting idea,” Vaughan said.

  Humphrey squinted at his friend’s image. Vaughan had always been the image of perfection, which had made Humphrey envious. But the image he presented now was odd. It seemed to lack refinement, as if Vaughan wasn’t putting forth the effort to look like himself anymore. For one, the flaw that made Vaughan look so distinctive, the prominent vein on one temple, was gone. His eyebrows were thin and light-colored. Almost not there. And the angle of his jaw was more severe, his chin more pointed.

  “A fleet that large can’t stay invisible from all other boats,” Vaughan said. “So the question is: can I access communications from other surface vessels and listen to what they report seeing?”

  Orson’s mouth opened slightly, exposing grayish lower teeth. “That’s a clever idea.” He darted a glance at Vaughan’s image. Orson had always been a little creeped out by the AI Vaughan for some reason. “Can you do that?”

  Vaughan’s lips quirked. “Let me find out.” He vanished.

  Humphrey referred to the list of things he had to do before leaving. There was only one more item, an issue of great contention on the island. It read, simply: assign crew.

  When word had gotten out about his plans, every single Scion had volunteered to go along. Children as young as four had wandered up to him, offering to help save Livy.

  Sa
ving Livy was part of it. But Humphrey intended to do more. Somehow, he was going to end Dr. Carlhagen’s whole program. If that meant killing him, then so be it.

  Humphrey set down the list. Killing Dr. Carlhagen would be killing Vaughan’s body. That would end any hope Jacey had of overwriting Dr. Carlhagen so Vaughan could live again. On the other hand, AI Vaughan had refused to do it when he’d had the chance, so . . .

  He pushed the problem from his mind. Just getting to Dr. Carlhagen seemed impossible at the moment. “If only we knew what we were up against,” he said. “Is the compound behind a fence like on St. Vitus? Does he have some of Captain Wilcox’s mercenary guards there?”

  That’s what worried him the most. He would be going in relatively unarmed. It wasn’t the first time he’d lamented Sensei’s decision to lock up the guns they’d confiscated from Senator Bentilius’s forces. On the other hand, putting those weapons in the hands of Scions, all of them younger than him, seemed like a terrible idea. None of them knew how to use the weapons, and all of them were angry enough with Dr. Carlhagen to start shooting at the first sign of trouble.

  Nothing to be done about that. He sighed and read the last item on his to-do list. “Crew.”

  Orson pulled a cigar from his pocket and stuffed the soggy, chewed-up end into his mouth. “Summer. Can’t sail without her. That’ll get you there. Who you’ll need after that . . .” He shrugged and looked away.

  “If Summer is going, then Elias is going. That’s good, Elias is healed up and will be an important and skilled fighter if it comes to it.”

  And that highlighted a rather large problem. Vaughan was gone, Sang was gone, and Horace was gone. That left Tytus, a skilled fighter, but only 15. Kirk, who looked like he was 18, but was only 14. And Obu, 14. Trained fighters all, but young. They’d shown their prowess already, having defeated Senator Bentilius’s armed men. But that had been in a situation where the armed men were under orders not to shoot the Scions.

  If he took those boys, that would leave Pedro, a 13-year-old, as the eldest boy on the island. The remaining boys would probably respect his authority, but Pedro’s judgment—his whole emotional state—had suffered greatly since the death of his best friend Constantine, who had accidentally been shot.