“You think you know me?” I ask.
“No. I don’t think anyone really knows you. We have that in common.”
“How long do you think it will take for us to know each other?”
He shrugs and is about to say something when a cacophony of beeping interrupts him. His jaw tight, he rises from his seat. “Oscil, report.”
“Incoming Vindercrafts, seven series.”
“Image.” A holographic landscape image appears over the surface of the desk between us. A stunning aircraft that resembles a matte black boomerang flies low over the glassy water, but leaves no shadow on the surface. Behind it, there is a fleet of similar airships, a score at least, following it in a V formation.
Kyon frowns. “Are they armed?”
“Fully armed.”
“Occupants?”
“Twenty-seven life forms in the lead ship.”
“Approach?”
“Quadrant two.”
“Time?”
“One fleat,” the fem-bot replies, indicating that in a minute that ship will be here.
“Have they been warned not to attempt to land here?”
“Affirmative. Shall I initiate termination protocols?” the computer asks dispassionately.
“Hold termination,” Kyon murmurs. “Allow the lead ship through. Bar the rest of the formation.”
“Who is it?” I ask, watching him. I can’t tell if he’s happy or unhappy about the visitor.
“Alameeda Strikers.”
“Why are they coming here?”
“They intend to return you to the Brotherhood.”
“And you’re going to say no?”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re mine,” he replies.
The hologram between Kyon and I shows the armada of aircraft behind the lead ship suddenly veer off in several different directions, avoiding an iridescent, bubblelike dome that exists between them and their lead ship. As they scramble in the air, realigning in a clump behind the shield, the lead boomerang-shaped ship halts abruptly at the edge of the beach. It shifts its shape and draws in its wings; it soon resembles a black salamander. Four legs form from the body, anchoring it to the beach. Black armor-clad soldiers slither around inside the mouth of the ship when it opens onto the shore. Kyon doesn’t look at all concerned. Finding it hard to breathe, I swallow the bile that rises in my mouth.
“Oscil,” Kyon says calmly.
“Requirement?”
“Enemy infiltration. Is Excelsior among them?”
“Scanning for Excelsior Ensin,” the dispassionate voice replies. “Negative. Excelsior Ensin is not detected.”
Kyon looks disappointed as he says, “Exterminate all foreign entities.”
“Authorization code?”
“Formulate Infinity.”
“Who is Excelsior?” I demand.
Kyon is distracted, watching the hologram between us as he says, “He’s the Supreme Chancellor of the Alameeda Brotherhood—my father.”
“Your father is the Supreme Chancellor!” I say in shock.
“What? Your source never mentioned that?” Kyon asks sarcastically. He gives me a derisive look. “Maybe he assumed you knew.”
“Maybe I should start paying my sources,” I mutter.
On the desk between us, light flickers from the holographic images projected there. Crystal-blue water and a golden sun become the backdrop to the monstrous black stage formed by the mouth of the open aircraft. A troop of miniature soldiers acts out a strange scene as they spill out into the water on the edge of the beach, igniting smoke canisters that act as heavy, red-roiling smoky curtains on the peripherals of the stage.
The soldiers quickly divide into two units. Armed with wicked weaponry, mainly riflelike guns called frestons that can be set to project electro-pulses, laser projectiles, or bulletlike ammunition, the first unit moves forward. They have black utility belts that hold spare battery cartridges, clipped around their combat armor. The belts have heat seekers and silver cylinders known as sanctum amps that Hollis once told me explode when they’re thrown. “I take it you’re not close to your dad.”
“We don’t enjoy each other’s company,” Kyon replies. My stomach is in knots. I want to run to the door of his office and bar it, but a closed door won’t stop them, not with the guns they have.
I look past the scene playing out in front of me, to Kyon. The images from the hologram form light patterns on his face. “I need another weapon,” I say urgently. “I left my knife in the bedroom.”
Kyon smiles at me as if I’ve just said something funny. “You’ll be fine, Kricket.” He points at the hologram. My eyes pan back to it, catching sight of a ripple appearing beneath the sand near the house. A shock wave moves outward so fast that the sand swallows the first unit before they can take another step.
I blink in disbelief. “Where’d they go?” I whisper.
Kyon glances up at me from the hologram. “They’ve been buried alive. The defensive systems on the island are following protection protocols.”
The second unit of soldiers near the water scream out names of the missing. Nothing stirs beneath the white waves of sand, though. A tall, blond soldier becomes frantic; he runs to where the first unit was last seen, jackknifes into the quicksand, and disappears from sight. Kyon shakes his head and murmurs, “There’s always someone who loses his mind and does that. You can’t train that out of them.”
The soldier Kyon referred to doesn’t resurface. The others retreat back into the shadowy recesses of their dark ship. “Are they leaving?” I ask hopefully. My sweaty hands clutch the edge of the desk.
Kyon shakes his head. “They’re under orders to retrieve you. Should they return without you, they’ll be executed. Better to die here.”
Kyon is right. The Strikers soon reappear in the doorway of their aircraft. Clad in Riker Paks, blue flames kindle from beneath the two fuselage-shaped canisters on each soldier’s jet pack. They lift off from the shore one by one and fly toward the house.
The house’s defenses react. A scorching wave of fiery light rolls out in concentric circles from spouts on the eaves. The fire ignites the airborne Strikers, shorting out their jet packs while it burns them. They fall from the sky, and the hungry sand greets them, extinguishing the flames as it pulls their charred carcasses under.
Oscil’s silky fem-bot voice startles me. “All foreign life-forms have been terminated,” it states.
I shiver. Kyon looks away from the hologram on the desk and over to the bank of screens that show different aspects of the island and the interior of the house. He’s tense; his jaw is rigid. He studies the other ships that can come no closer to the shore.
“Can they get past your shield?”
“No.”
“How long do you think they’ll sit out there?” I ask, while worrying a piece of my hair between my fingers.
“It’s intimidation. They’re letting me know that although they can’t get in, we will not be allowed to leave without detection.” He glances at my face. “I hadn’t planned on leaving anytime soon, but when I do, it won’t matter who’s out there to greet us.”
Oscil breaks in again. “Incoming transmission from Excelsior Ensin.”
Kyon leans back in his seat. I wait for him to answer the message, but he makes no move to do so. I raise my eyebrow. “Are you going to answer that?” I ask.
“I just said everything I needed to say to Excelsior.”
“Should I answer it?” I ask.
“I don’t know, should you?” he returns my question. His expression is unreadable. “Do you want to hide behind me, or do you want to stand up for yourself?”
“I’m not going to rely on you for anything, Kyon.”
“Then, by all means, you should answer it. Tell Oscil to accept the transmission.” He temples his hands again, looking at me in challenge.
I lean back in Kyon’s enormous chair and try to adopt a serene mien. Lifti
ng my chin, I murmur, “Oscil, accept the transmission.”
Like some retro mission control, Oscil responds, “Transmission accepted.”
CHAPTER 4
NO SHADE IN THE SHADOWS
Between Kyon and me, a holographic image of a handsome blond man takes shape. Excelsior’s resemblance to Kyon is, in a word, ridiculous. Although Kyon’s forty-something-looking father has a different hairstyle, which is short, blond, and severe, there’s no doubt in my mind what Kyon will look like when he’s that age—that is, if Excelsior somehow lets him live that long. The leader’s shiny eyes, made from blue light, hood in reaction to his seeing me in the seat behind Kyon’s desk.
“Where is my son?” His stern voice has a similar resonance to Kyon’s.
I try to play it cool. “Greetings, Excelsior. Lovely day. Are you enjoying the warm sea air?”
Excelsior barks, “I will ask you again, where is he?”
I shrug, trying not to seem afraid. “I think he went to get a snack.” I gesture with my thumb. “Is there something I can do for you instead?” I ask innocently. Glancing at Kyon, I see a grudging smile developing on his lips.
Excelsior growls, “Kricket.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Excelsior.”
“So you know who I am?”
“I’ve heard of you.”
“From Kyon?”
“No. He has hardly spoken of you. I don’t think he likes you very much,” I whisper conspiratorially.
“Get him. Now!” he roars.
“No. I don’t think I will,” I state calmly. I hold out my hand, studying my fingernails, as if I don’t have a care in the world.
The silence stretches on for a few long breaths, before Excelsior says, “You do look exactly like your mother . . . except for your eyes. Violet.”
My eyes shift back to his once more. “And you look like Kyon.”
He frowns. “He looks like me. It’s why he isn’t dead.”
“He was saved by your narcissism then? I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear that.”
“He was saved by the fact that I know he’s mine,” he replies. What he says is true, but at the same time it isn’t. His answer makes me pause in confusion.
“There’s always a paternity test,” I mutter. “No need for doubt.”
“One can’t always believe those. Too many bleeding-heart technicians who are eager to save a child.” I understand what he’s referring to because, unbeknown to him, I have met a few of the gifted “lost boys” whom he’s failed to destroy—the males born to priestesses who exhibit the kind of freak gene I have.
“I’d suspect that after meeting you, anyone would go way out of her way to deny your paternity.”
“They go out of their way to claim that the males born to priestesses, like you, are declared ungifted . . . even when they’re not.”
I think of Giffen. He’s one of those. “Sounds as if no one wants you to slaughter innocent children.”
“I’m saving the people who count. Should those males survive, they’d rise up and kill us all.”
“Or maybe just you. I think I’d like to see that.”
He scowls. “I know you would. That’s why I’m here.”
“So I can watch you die? Aww, that’s sort of thoughtful of you. I’ll enjoy that.”
He ignores me. “Kyon must be made to understand that you’re not worth his demise.”
“You’re right—I’m really not. Maybe we should convince him to take me back to Earth? I promise I won’t return to Ethar.”
“You’ll never leave Ethar. You have something that belongs to me.”
“I don’t think I do, but what is it that you think I owe you, Excelsior?”
“The future.”
“Do you expect me to read your palm or something? Could you really trust me if I did?”
“I have all the predictions I need. Your mother saw to that. She gave us her prophecies. No, I’m speaking of your other future.”
“Which would be?”
“Your offspring, Kricket. They belong to me.”
My mouth hangs wide. I glance at Kyon. He’s watching me. My eyes travel back to the image of Excelsior. “I don’t have any children.”
“Nor will you.”
“Then how do you intend to take ownership of my offspring?”
“Your organs will be harvested. I’ll have everything I need to create my own daughters from your bloodline.”
I feel myself growing pale. “You’re a sick psychopath, Excelsior. I’m going to make it my mission to mess you up in ways you can’t even imagine!” I’m bluffing. Inside, my blood turns cold with dread.
“I hope you prove to be more of an adversary than your mother. She was so trusting until it was almost too late.”
“She was a child.”
“You’re a child.”
“You’re wrong. I haven’t been a child for a long time.”
“When I come for you, I’ll divide you up into so many pieces that you—”
“Oscil, end transmission,” Kyon interrupts. The image of Excelsior evaporates, leaving me face-to-face with Kyon instead. I don’t say anything. My mind is buzzing with the knowledge that my plight just went from completely awful to extremely wretched in a matter of a few moments. I don’t know how long I stare at Kyon, unseeing, but I flinch when he speaks. “You scare him, Kricket. He isn’t one to verbally threaten his enemies. He usually never lets them know they’re his enemies until after he strikes them with a death blow.”
“I don’t know if I like that distinction.”
“I don’t mind it. It gives us something in common.”
“How long until Excelsior gets through your defenses, Kyon?”
“You’ll have to let me know the answer to that question.”
His response scares me. “I’d like to be alone.”
Kyon shrugs. “The airships will be kept at bay—that makes the island open to you.” He indicates the aircraft on the bank of screens that surround the office. They’re moving away. “We’re safe while they formulate another strategy. If you’d like, you can take a walk through the gardens and paths behind the house.”
I rise to my feet, desperate to get away from here. I move around the edge of the desk. When I near him, he reaches out and grasps my wrist gently. “Stay off the beach until I say otherwise,” he orders. I nod numbly. “And don’t go too far. It’s easy to get lost.”
“Fine.” I shake off his hand.
“I expect you back before it grows dark.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I murmur. It takes everything I have not to run from the room. When I reach the doorway, I pause. Without looking at Kyon, I ask, “Why is Excelsior afraid of me?”
“He knows you’re here to kill him.”
It’s not voluntary, the way I react to what Kyon says. I don’t remember crossing the threshold of the room or getting to the staircase, but somewhere on the second floor, I realize I’m running. Retracing my steps back to the main floor, I rush around until I find a foyer made of thousands of panes of glass. It leads outside. The glare of the sun meets me, blinding me for a moment as I stumble around, looking for a direction to run. Finding a stone-covered path, I follow it away from the house.
Passing garden-bots, whose metallic bodies glimmer in the harsh sunshine, I shield my eyes from the glare. The path leads through manicured hedgerows. As I dart around them, I scrape my arms on their sharp angles. I glance over my shoulder to make sure Kyon isn’t following me, but all I see is the house. It’s a fairy boat of timber and glass.
I hurry farther away from it toward the high sea grass and a forest of palm trees in the distance. Moss-covered stones mark the path I travel. When I make it to the trees, I instantly feel relief from the sun within their shade. A gentle breeze drifts against my face. Panting, I slow my pace a bit, following the grassy path that winds ahead of me.
Unable to think clearly, I’m capable only of putting one foot in front of the other at the moment.
The impulse to hide is so strong. I don’t know how far I am from the house, but I pause when I spy a slate roofline deep in the woods. It’s a small, stone gazebo built on a knoll to overlook the sea in the distance. Beside it, a small brook babbles and flows over smooth stones on its way to the side of the hill in a trickling waterfall. I go to the ledge of the shelter, sitting on it. In the distance, the Sea of Stars sparkles like the glimmers of a thousand searchlights. Watching it, I try to get my head together, but I can’t brush off the events of my nightmarish morning.
Excelsior Ensin is insane. People like me don’t win against people like Excelsior. I know that from growing up in Chicago. If I stand up to him, I die. The huge obstacle I face is that Kyon refuses to let me go. I have to find a way to escape them both. This has never been my fight, not really. I’d been discarded on Earth. Ethar means almost nothing to me, or at least, it never used to—now I’m not so sure. It’s Trey’s home and he’s my home.
“I need you to come and find me,” I whisper, as if my words could change time and space and bring me my heart’s desire.
The snap of a stick nearby makes me bolt to my feet. I reach for a stone on the ground, picking it up in my fist. I glance around, scanning the area for anything that moves. I hear a deep, male rumble of laughter. Winding back, I throw the stone in the direction of it. The rock changes course and veers away as soon as it reaches the entrance of the gazebo. It falls to the ground in the middle of the pavilion. My eyes widen in surprise as a voice says, “You almost hit me.”
“Giffen!” I whisper accusingly, still unable to see him.
“Your intuition is uncanny. Good throw, by the way.”
“Knob knocker!” I spit. “Where are you? Get me out of here!”
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