Across A Star-Swept Sea Part 15

Seventeen.

PERSIS STARED DOWN AT the p.r.i.c.ker in her hand. She doubted very highly that Justen Helo would approve of what she was about to do. Not that his opinion should matter. She was only pretending that he was her boyfriend, after all.

She gritted her teeth and rolled up her sleeve, remembering all too well the last time she'd attempted genetemps. Tero promised he'd filtered out all the bugs. He swore he'd gotten it right this time.

But he also seemed to have a lot of stuff on his mind.

"Persis?" said Andrine, huddled close by her side on the narrow cabin bench. She, too, held a p.r.i.c.ker, but seemed to be waiting for Persis to go first. The boat they'd borrowed from the fis.h.i.+ng village smelled of salt and seaweed. "We're still going through with this, right?"

"Of course. I trust your brother, don't you?"

"Sure. As far as I can throw him."

"Slipstream is great," Persis argued.

"We're humans, Persis. Not weasels."

"Sea minks," she corrected.

"Whatever." Andrine stared at the p.r.i.c.ker in distaste. "You don't thinka"you don't think anything's going on with Tero and Isla, do you?"

Persis had vaguely suspected that Tero had a crush on her best friend. His palmport apps, his adoption of "your highness" when all her other friends were still calling her Isla, his ability to use any excuse at all to run errands from the Royal College of Gengineers' lab to the court a and that was fine. But his anger and Isla's guilty expressions yesterdaya"had things moved beyond unrequited crush? With the ruler of the realm? Was this what came of Tero growing up in Scintillans and seeing Persis's parents live happily ever after? There was a huge difference between a reg marrying a random aristo and one falling for the princess regent. Maybe Persis should have been paying more attention to what was going on with her friends.

And maybe if Justen Helo knew what she was thinking, he'd get all revolutionary again.

She took a deep breath and jabbed the p.r.i.c.ker in her arm. "Tero is always making her those palmport apps." The burn began deep in her muscles and she winced and reached out for the pallet shoved in the corner of the cabin.

Andrine followed suit. "That might prove he doesn't like her. I mean have you seen the supplement she has to take to run that jumping threads application? It's like drinking rock slurry."

Tero had warned them there might be dizziness in the half hour it took the genes to reach maximum expression in her system. She stumbled over to the rough linen cus.h.i.+on and collapsed, and the boat pitched beneath her feet as Andrine joined her.

"Too bad your father geolocked the Daydream," she slurred to Persis. "At least there we could be sick in comfort."

"Sick," Persis agreed through chattering teeth, "but also far more suspicious. I think this particular genetemps will be harder to explain away as a party drug gone foul, and they've stepped up their monitoring of all boats from Albion."

Papa's restrictions might be a blessing in disguise. Someone in Galatea would eventually correlate the appearance of the Daydream with a visit from the Wild Poppy. There were enough commonplace fis.h.i.+ng boats in the Scintillans village that Andrine and Persis could commandeer without anyone getting wise. A new round of tremors overtook her and Persis hugged herself and clenched her jaw to ease the pain.

"This a had a better a be a worth it, Persis," said Andrine, who sounded similarly pained.

Persis reached over to give her friend a comforting pat, but every move sent arrows of agony through her flesh. "Don't worry," she ground out. "If it goes wrong, I'll treat you to a full body wax."

Andrine forced a laugh, and everything went dark.

WHEN SHE WOKE, PERSIS could tell by the angle of the sun that at least an hour had pa.s.sed. She stood up, her muscles stiff and slightly sore from the spasming. Andrine was still asleep, but the evidence of the drug's effectiveness was there on her face. Persis crossed to the mirror they'd hung above the cabin door.

"Well, Tero," she whispered, and her voice came out deep and gruff. "Good job."

A fine, downy black hair covered Persis's face from the bottom of her nose down past the collar of her s.h.i.+rt. Her hands, when she reached up to touch her face, seemed swollena"the palms were wide, the fingers broad, and the knuckles far more evident. Her feet felt tight inside her slippers, and she was sure she'd find the same changes wrought there. Her amber eyes seemed darkened to a muddy brown and even her complexion appeared darker, though it was difficult to tell beneath her new beard.

What would everyone think of her now? Stylish, feminine aristo Persis Blake had been wiped off the map, and in her place was a rough-looking man. She couldn't picture the image before her as the toast of Albion society, couldn't picture him luring Justen into the water and kissing him against a rock wall. A giggle escaped her lips; but in her new rough voice, it came out sounding more like a grunt. Here she was, rough and furry, and freer than she'd been in days.

She ran her fingertips over her mouth. It remained much the same. These were the lips Justen had kissed. Would he even recognize them now, surrounded by so much hair? Maybe, if she looked like this, she'd never be put in the position of having to kiss people she didn't want to in the first place. If she looked like this, she could be a Council member. If Isla looked like her father, she could be a king.

But she still couldn't date Tero Finch.

Last night, as Persis swam in the star cove and trumpeted the great opportunity to be found for regs in Albion, Justen had reminded her that they weren't spread out equally. Noemi would never run her own sanitarium. Tero had grown up to be a gengineer, but his sister, Andrine, despite her service to the princess, would never be a Council member. And a princess regent could never rule the country or marry a reg.

Just because things were better in Albion didn't make them perfect.

But that was neither here nor there at the moment. She needed to rescue Lady Ford and the others, who were in far more immediate danger than any women or regs in Albion.

Quickly, she gathered up supplies to complete the transformation. When she was finished, her hair had been painted with dark temporary dye and arranged in a flat, un.o.btrusive tail down her back. The fuzz on her face had been transformed into a trailing mustache and a neatly kept beard. Dressed in a squarish coat, cropped trousers, and cylindrical cap, she looked every inch the part of a salt miner from Galatea's southern sh.o.r.es.

A moan at her back gave her pause, but when Persis looked around, Andrine was still deeply asleep. The sedative Persis had subst.i.tuted for Andrine's dose of genetemps should last for several hours. She double-checked, but the moan appeared to be a false alarm. Persis took a breath, then let it out. Andrine would no doubt be furious when she awoke, but until Justen figured out how to fix the problems with detoxing the regs who got Reduced, Persis refused to let her friend be put in more danger than strictly necessary.

Andrine's family was Helo-cured. If she was caught and Reduced, she might never recover, and Persis would definitely never forgive herself. Andrine, so young and so brillianta"doing all this because of her loyalty to Persis? No, it wasn't worth it.

Then again, Persis had never been tested. She might have an aristo mind and never even have to worry about Darkening, or she might be a reg through and through. If she were caught and Reduced, she might never escape, either.

But that was a risk she'd have to take.

FEW PLACES IN THE islands were as dismal as the Halahou city prison. The golden sunlight that bathed the rest of New Pacifica didn't penetrate its interior courtyards, and the gray basalt walls were devoid of color or decoration. The moans and wails of the Reduced ricocheted down corridors and bounced off the ceilings of the cells. The sound was relentless. Those who visited the prison often wondered if even Reduction was worse than the punishment of waiting for sentencing in your cell and listening to the unintelligible chorus that you, too, would make once your brain was scuttled by the drug. Was this the sound that their ancestors had made for generations? Was this the noise that permeated the islands before the cure? Such a notable aspect of Reduction would surely be something they'd learned about in school, right?

But it was silly to question whether or not the Reduction drug was different from actual Reduction. Dangerous, too. Those who questioned the revolution would soon get caught in its crosshairs.

Today, the prison was more chaotic than usual, with all the excitement surrounding the triumph over the evil Lady Ford and her army of loyalists. The Fords had waged a month-long battle of resistance against the revolution, barricading their estate against the military police and enlisting the help of loyalist regs against their best interest. As the siege had drawn out over days and weeks, the fiasco had become a thorn in Citizen Aldred's side. The regs loyal to the Fords had spoken out against the revolution, disseminating loyalist propaganda and undermining the populace's support of the new republic. It was not to be borne. The Fords would have to pay, and so would anyone who'd dared side with them.

But, at last, the barricades had fallen and the Ford estate belonged to the people of Galatea, thanks in no small part to the tireless efforts of Citizen Aldred's own daughter, Captain Vania Aldred. The Fords and their supporters had been transferred to Halahou prison to receive a public Reduction, which would be broadcast at sunset all over the island. Along with the Fords had come a host of new guards, mostly transfers from the siege. They wouldn't need nearly so many forces at the estate once it was a work camp, even with the new guidelines that General Gawnt had put in place to root out the Wild Poppy.

All this was perfectly understood by the bearded figure who was slowly driving a service skimmer filled with barrels of salt up to the gate of the Halahou city prison.

"What took you so long?" the head gate guard asked as the salter handed over an oblet with the inventory and order list. "You were supposed to make this delivery several hours ago."

"Lava flow cut off the road," the salter grunted. "Don't have heat s.h.i.+elds on the lifters."

The guard whistled through his teeth. "What is going on down in the southern lowlands? It's a good thing Citizen Aldred's in charge now. We regs will get the public works we deserve."

"Long live the revolution," the salter said, lifting a gloved fist.

Once inside the prison, the salter made a big show of unloading the prison's barrels, then trying and failing to restart his skimmer.

"Looks like it needs a fresh battery," the salter said, in case anyone was listening.

He wandered down one corridor and then another, the dead battery in his arms, as if searching for a geocharging station.

After the third turn, he found what he was looking for. A young girl in a military uniform sat in the shadow of a wall, far away from security imagers.

"Private Delmar," he said, his smile hidden behind his beard. "You're looking well."

Remy Helo stood and smoothed down her chin-length hair. "Not too loud. I've been recognized once already and said I was looking for my uncle. But most people just see the uniform and ignore my face. There are so many new guards today from the Ford estate, no one knows anyone."

"That's what we're counting on."

Remy peered through the shadows at the salter. "Are you a her? Or someone else?"

"What does it matter?" said Persis. "You know what I'm here for."

Remy regarded the beard and the other changes. "This is a much better disguise than the last one you used."

"I'm glad you approve. Now let's get going."

Persis quickly dispatched the two guards monitoring the cells holding the Fords.

"Is that the drug you used on me?" Remy whispered as she watched the knockout drugs spinning from Persis's palmport and smacking the guards in the face.

Persis didn't answer. She inserted the nanotech key into the panel and it quickly scrambled the locking mechanism. With the cell unlocked, she pressed a lever on the cart battery. It began to droop and sag, looking less every moment like a piece of machinery and more like a sack of some sort. Inside were the items Remy would need to complete the mission.

Persis handed the sack to Remy and gestured to the cell. "The rest is up to you," she said. "Welcome to the League."

Remy nodded and took a deep breath. "Waita"" she said. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?"

"I need a wild poppy. They'll never believe I'm here to help them without one."

Persis laughed despite herself. When a wild poppy could be found on the side of every road in Galatea, it was hardly a certificate of authenticity. Nevertheless, she pointed at the edge of the battery-turned-bag. "Everything you need is in there."

There, on the side, glowed the outline of a wild poppy in s.h.i.+mmery nanotech gold.

Remy beamed and headed for the cells.

Back at the skimmer, Persis managed to rea.s.semble, then start her engine again with little trouble. She hovered out to the gate once more, relieved to find a bit of a backup. Everything was going according to plan. The guard transfer at the gate seemed to be somewhat chaotic, with a tangle of new guards coming in and going outa"not all of whom seemed to understand the protocol. When everything was sorted, she let out a deep breath and moved up to take her place.

"I apologize for the delay," said the head guard as she handed over her inventory oblet once more. "Some of these new transfers aren't especially well trained."

"I see that," she replied. "Almost wondered if Citizen Aldred has taken to Reducing his own."

The guard shrugged. "Heard those rumors, too, huh? These lot are probably untouchable. The Ford estate transfers are all under the command of Captain Vania Aldred, you know."

Persis swallowed. "The daughter?"

"Explains why they're such a mess, huh?" the guard said with a snort. "She's not old enough for her own command, if you ask me. Course, I never said such a thing."

"Right." Persis and her genetemps-enhanced vocal cords gave a deep, throaty, salter chuckle as the guard pressed the lever to open the gate. Persis started to move out, but there was a figure blocking her path, a medic by the look of the uniform.

"Citizen Fisher," the medic called and waved at the guard.

"Citizen Paint," the guard replied. "Back again? Another problem with the latest batch of pinks?"

Persis decided it was time for her skimmer to break down again. She ground the gears to a halt and the engine died, thumping the machine to the ground.

"What's this about?" cried the guard. "Get a move on. You're blocking the gate."

"So sorry, Citizen!" Persis jumped out of the cab and went around to mess with the fans. "It's been giving me problems all day."

The guard gave her an exasperated sneer and turned back to his medic friend. "So what's wrong now? We had a bit of a fright last week when the last batch turned out to be a dud. Prisoners waking up all over the island."

Persis bit her lip to conceal a delighted smile. Could this be possible?

"Well, it's either the pills or the prisoners are building up a resistance to its effects."

She'd have to inform Noemi of this as soon as she got home.

The medic turned to Persis and snorted. "Need a push, man?" He looked back at the guard. "Apparently not everyone needs a pink to be an idiot, right, Fisher? Anyway, the lab guys are flummoxed, and it's not like they've got the Helo wonder kid around to fix things up anymore. Have you heard he's run off to Albion? Taken up with some aristo girl, apparently."

"You never can tell about a person, can you?" said the guard.

Persis pressed a b.u.t.ton on the side of the skimmer and the fans clanked together, emitting a shower of sparks.

The medic jumped. "Watch what you're doing, man! Don't you know this is a prison? You're liable to get shot if you start a fire."

"Yes, sir," she said meekly. "You're right about that. Say, did you say you knew a Helo? A real live Helo?"

The guard grunted. "Don't know how much of a *real Helo' he is to run off with an aristo."

But the medic puffed out his chest as he replied. "I know him pretty well, actually. He was a few years below me in school. Of course, I didn't have Citizen Aldred giving me special a.s.signments like Justen Helo did. Smart as a whip, that kid, but he does put on airs. Thinks he's way too good to just sit in a lab all day and mix up pinks, so we've got to do it."

"That doesn't surprise me," the guard admitted. "Aldred's daughter is the same way. Went right to the top, that one. Regs that think they're aristos, if you ask me."

Persis risked speaking up again. "But it was Persistence Helo what ended Reduction. Her grandson probably doesn't want to be involved in starting it up again."

"What is that supposed to mean?" The guard scowled at Persis. "You'd better watch your tongue, salter. You have no idea what you're talking about."

The medic laughed in agreement. "You sure don't! Helo's the one who invented pinks in the first place."

Persis's heart dropped somewhere into the vicinity of her kneecaps.

"That's why he's so high on himself," the medic went on. "That's why he's Aldred's right-hand mana"or was until he wandered off island."

But Justen was helping the refugees. Justen hated what was happening to the Galatean prisoners. Justen had defected from Galatea because of how evil the revolution had become.

It wasn't true. This medic was full of bitterness toward Justen. He was lying to make Justen look bad. Except a The medic had nothing at all against pinks. He thought that was the best thing Justen ever did. He wasn't criticizing hima"in fact, he was praising Justen. She restarted the skimmer and got out of the prison as quickly as she could, her mind erupting with anxiety.

Could she have left her refugees in the hands of the man responsible for their torture?