"I do?" She c.o.c.ked her head. He was cute when he smiled. It softened his whole face, making his eyes crinkle up a bit at the corners and turning those cheekbones of his from severe and serious to a well, surely s.e.xy was well beside the point.

"You're all right. I mean, except for that thing on your head. Anything with that many feathers that can't fly is definitely evil."

She touched the fascinator and pouted. "I'll have you know this is my second-best hat."

The Daydream glided into its berth and Slipstream clattered onto the dock, catapulting his long body off the side and into the clear green water beneath.

"Oysters," Persis explained to Justen. "There's nothing Slippy likes better."

The cliff face rose before them, vertical and seemingly sheer. They strolled down the dock toward the lift and Persis peeled off her wristlock so her palmport could tell the door to open.

Justen chuckled.

"What?" she asked.

"Just a memory from last night," he said. "Andrine and I had a horrible time trying to activate your port long enough to key in the pa.s.scode on the lift. Neither of us liked the idea of hauling you up the switchbacks."

Persis glanced up at the ancient, zigzag road carved into the cliff. It was the remnant of another time, a long-ago owner of Scintillans who'd populated the switchback trail with Reduced servants acting as beasts of burden. But the lift had been installed long before the cure. The Blakes had been progressive aristos for generations. "I suppose if you're going to stay here, we should get you your own pa.s.scode."

"Am I?" Justen asked as the doors to the lift opened and they entered.

"Well," said Persis, "it depends on how well you impress my father." The round room was large enough for ten pa.s.sengers at a time, but Justen pressed his hands against the windows as if trying to escape as the lift rose into the air. She stayed where she was, in the center of the lift, watching him. The seaward walls bowed outward, large panes of gla.s.s revealing the vast, glittery channel beyond. Sometimes, when the weather was clear enough, you could almost make out Galatea, but though her companion scanned the horizon diligently, a haze blocked the southern view.

"Homesick already?"

Justen didn't respond.

With a jolt, the lift came to a halt and the solid back doors curled open like petals, revealing the Scintillans front lawn and every last one of its inhabitants, arrayed in their holiday best and standing at attention.

Her parents were stationed at the head of this ostentatious display. Persis stifled a groan. She knew what was coming.

"Justen Helo," said her father, spreading his arms and grinning broadly. "Welcome to Scintillans. It is an honor and a privilege to have you here as our guest." Her mother, holding tightly to her husband's arm, smiled as well. Every servant in the household looked ready to break into song, and if Persis knew her papa, they'd been rehearsing all morning.

Justen turned to Persis and raised his eyebrows. She shrugged. "Don't look at me. If there's one thing Papa likes, it's going overboard."

"Oh," said Justen with a wry smile. "It's genetic, then?"

Seven.

BEFORE THE REVOLUTION, THE royal palace in Halahou had been a monument to the selfish extravagance of its inhabitants. While peasants fought for equal rights against their cruel aristo masters, Queen Gala and her cronies knew no lack, experienced no injustice, and suffered from none of the problems that formed the daily fabric of life for every other Galatean. Was there a sickness? A legal dispute? A case of an aristo terribly mistreating a reg? The queen didn't care. She didn't even notice. She did nothinga"nothing at all to help the people she ruled.

Vania Aldred reminded herself of this every time she walked past the old queen's portrait. She knew her father hadn't painted over the mural in the public courtyard for that very reason. The only alteration he'd made were the words in nanopaint that now flashed across the monarch's frescoed face.

TYRANT.

Vania spit on the ground in front of the portrait as she entered the gates. Queen Gala, the tyrant. Queen Gala, who had died too soon to fulfill the promise of the punishment her father had devised. The other aristos would suffer in her placea"them and any other enemy of the revolution.

And that included that stupid, flowery Albian spy. Leave it to some aristocratic idiot to come up with such a deplorable and embarra.s.sing code name. It was a wonder anyone took him seriously at all.

But they did. And her father would take it especially seriously once Vania reported that she'd lost the Ford children to the Wild Poppy.

The interior courtyard was occupied by a small group of police trainees in the midst of hand-to-hand combat practice. As she pa.s.sed, Vania straightened. Most of her cla.s.smates were still in the program, while she'd sped through training and was already rising up the ranks of her father's military order.

"Citizen Vania!" the instructor called to her. "You're just in time. I'm teaching a few maneuvers you'll remember from your own training days. Care to favor us with a demonstration?"

Vania smiled at him. This instructor was a bit of a suck-up, always looking for preferment from her father, but at the same time, her combat ranking was an objective fact. "Certainly." She slipped off her jacket and joined the group.

The cadets lined up, and Vania took her place in the courtyard. Her first opponent was clumsy and slow. She dispatched him easily. The second cadet was skilled at defending herself from blows but had no offense to match. After thirty seconds, she, too, was lying in the dust.

The third, a tall, slim woman, approached with a determined look on her face. She had at least ten centimeters on Vania, and probably a few years, too. At eighteen, Vania was the youngest officer in the entire Republic of Galatea, just as Justen was the youngest scientist in the royala"rather, the republicana"labs. Vania tossed her hair over her shoulder as the cadet, Sargent, took a stance opposite her. She couldn't afford to lose these sparring matchesa"not today. Not after her error at the Ford estate. To get beaten by a mere cadet would just lend fuel to the fire of rumors that Vania held her position only because of her father.

With a swift kick at her midsection, the fight began. Vania deflected the kick with the padded calf of her uniform pants, then ducked out of the way when Sargent followed it up with a punch. They circled each other, swiping and jabbing ineffectually. The cadet had excellent form and good instincts. She seemed to know exactly how Vania planned to defend herself from each attack. Vania moved in, changing her approach. Sargent, being taller, had a longer reach and could more easily protect her body, but Vania had a lower center of gravity. She made herself as small a target as possible and darted in, aiming her blows at Sargent's knees to try to knock her off balance.

The cadet jumped back, then landed a punch to the side of Vania's head. Breathless, Vania landed hard on her back, her hair momentarily obscuring her view. She pushed her bangs from her eyes to find Sargent standing over her, triumphant.

No, she refused to let it end like this. Vania quickly twisted the bracelet she wore and grabbed Sargent by the ankle. The cadet let out a cry of pain as every nerve from hip to toe shut down and she collapsed.

Vania calmly sat up and brushed dust from the sleeves of her jacket. She pushed herself to her feet.

"Cheater!" the cadet gasped between whimpers of pain. "That was a p.r.i.c.kera"you didn't say we could use weapons!"

Vania blinked innocently. "I'm sorry, Cadet. Question: Do you think the royalists I fight are polite enough to refrain from using whatever weapon they have at their disposal?"

The instructor gave a nervous chuckle. "And let that be a lesson to all of you. Citizen Aldred has a very good point."

Another cadet came to help Sargent up. Her leg was twitching, and Vania averted her eyes. The p.r.i.c.ker contained only a little cone snail neurotoxin, but the cadet wouldn't be in control of her muscles for a good hour. The other cadets looked on, silent and skeptical, despite their instructor's ruling that her tactics had been fine.

Who cared what they thought? Vania was righta"the royalist resistors wouldn't play fair in fights, so why should the revolutionaries? The point was to win, not to be fair.

VANIA HAD HOPED TO see Justen or Remy before dinner, but it didn't happen. Apparently, neither of her foster siblings had been in the palace since before last weekend. Remy was on some sort of school trip and Justen was no doubt buried waist-deep in research at the lab. Ever since the revolution started, they'd hardly spent any time together. Remy, especially, bore the brunt of Justen's and Vania's dedication to their work. It was good she was more mature than most fourteen-year-olds And, of course, she understood the importance of the revolution.

Showered and dressed for dinner, Vania took the seat at the foot of the table, the one that had once been reserved for her mother. On her left sat two of her father's must trusted advisers, and on her right were the two empty chairs belonging to the Helos.

Vania gave a quick shake of her head, her black bangs shivering on her brow. If Remy was out east on her field trip, that was one thing, but what excuse did Justen have to miss dinner yet again? His lab was right here in Halahou, but his absences were par for the course of late. He was glued to his chair at the laba"either that or performing genetic counseling sessions for families of the Darkened in sanitariums. Miserable wretches. Vania didn't know how Justen could stand even being near them. If she found out she would Darken, she'd throw herself off the nearest cliff rather than wait for the end to come naturally. Word on the streets was that the Reduction drug was better a but not by much.

There was the sound of a throat being cleared at the other end of the table and Vania raised her eyes. Her father had come at last. Citizen Aldred presided over the head of the table, his back straight, his coat b.u.t.toned to the neck and bearing every medal and insignia the old queen had ever awarded him when he was just the head of the reg militia. Vania had asked him once why he still wore them, since the old queen and indeed the entire old system of government were such a disgrace.

"Symbols are important, Vania," her father had explained. And right now, the populace clung to symbols of the old regime. They trusted Aldred both for his long service to the old country and for his promises about their new one.

Symbols, like those stupid leis and nanotechs and wild poppies Vania kept finding everywhere. It wasn't just that the Wild Poppy was s.n.a.t.c.hing the odd aristo out of the work camps. It was that he had to be so ostentatious about it. It appealed to vain aristo hearts and undermined the purity of the revolution.

"Citizen Helo isn't gracing us with his presence again this evening?" Citizen Aldred asked wryly. "And with you home from your siege, too, Vania. We're to be a small party tonight, it seems."

Vania's brow creased. She'd been too busy with the Ford barricades to contact Justen, but if she thought about it, it had been almost a week since they'd exchanged words at all. Maybe this was what being grown-up was really all about. Justen was busy with his research; she was busy with her father's revolution. When they were younger, they'd shared everything, but they were no longer children, and they weren't like Vania's old schoolmates either, who spent most of their days wandering around Halahou, partying with genetemps and gossiping, as idle as any aristo. The last time she'd made an effort to socialize with them, they'd been more interested in discussing their various romantic entanglements than in the world-changing revolution happening around them.

Vania and Justen were above all that. They had serious matters on their minds.

The company at the table joined hands and bowed their heads as Vania's father began to speak.

"We gathered here tonight to give thanks to those who came before us: Darwin and Persistence Helo, who witnessed the suffering of the Reduced and devised the cure."

Vania smiled into her plate. Even without her foster siblings' presence at the table, the Helos were not to be forgotten. Remy and Justen were both understandably proud of their heritage. Vania's father encouraged them to be, and he always claimed the Helos were the best regs who ever liveda"at least until now. Vania was sure that people would start exalting the Aldred name in the same way soon enough. After all, the Aldreds were the ones to finally free the regs from their aristo enslavement.

"We are also eternally grateful to the creator of New Pacifica, he whose name is lost to history due to tyranny of the monarchs and the enslavement of the people. Without the work of this unknown genius, humanity would have never survived the wars."

There was a chorus of nods and murmured agreement around the table. Vania was glad that, since the revolution, the true story was coming out. When she'd been growing up, she'd been forced to learn the monarchy-approved version: that the islands of New Pacifica had been terraformed and settled by the first Queen Gala and King Albie as a refuge after the Wars of the Lost had rendered every other land on Earth uninhabitable.

But it was far more important to emphasize the trutha"that the land itself had been created by the last general, the one who'd won the last War of the Lost by cracking open the Earth and killing all his enemies. Had he not done thata"whoever that brave man wasa"there would have been no New Pacifica in the first place.

The aristos who'd ruled the land for so long were n.o.bodiesa"probably descended from janitors or servants on the Lost General's ship. The only reason they hadn't ended up Reduced was that they'd been too poor to get the genetic enhancements that had accidentally caused Reduction. And then they'd taken advantage of the Reduced descendants of the people who'd really won the war.

Like the Lost General. No one knew what had become of him and his family. They were Lost, their children Reduced, and the aristos had never kept records about that sort of thing. It could even be the Aldreds. Probably was, considering that Damos Aldred was such a great military mastermind, too.

And Vania was determined to be just the same.

As the first course was served, Citizen Aldred directed his sights on her. "How is the siege of the Ford plantation progressing, Vania?"

"Very well, sir. I'm told the fortifications will fall in less than a week."

"Excellent." Her father smiled. At his right, General Gawnt rolled his bulbous eyes, but Vania did her best to ignore it, as she did all his snide remarks and badly hidden whispers of "nepotism" and "brat." Vania was young to be captain, and some people had a problem with that. But she didn't know why anyone should be surprised. She had an apt.i.tude for leadership and politics, like her father. Just because they had the same talents and went into the same line of work did not make them like the aristos, whose hereditary positions and privileges had been the bane of Galatea. It would have been wasteful of her father not to take advantage of her natural talents over some quibble about favoritism, just as it would have been wasteful of him not to utilize Justen's scientific genius, just because his name was Helo. The revolution would never have been this successful without Justen's contribution.

She wished Justen were here. She doubted Gawnt would be making these comments if Justen Helo were looking him in the eye.

"I heard a report that you were using unconventional methods to convince the Fords to surrender," said another of the lieutenants. "How did that work out?"

Vania grimaced. "Unfortunately, it didn't. We bribed the nanny to smuggle the children beyond the barricade, believing that the parents would surrender themselves for their offspring's sake."

"Good idea, Vania," said her father, and she beamed.

General Gawnt cleared his throat, and Vania's smile withered.

"Unfortunately, the nanny was a moron and lost the younger ones to the Wild Poppy."

"The Poppy!" General Gawnt snorted. "Again?"

Vania took a deep breath. "However, there is good news. The nanny failed to retrieve the heir, so there's no real harm done. Lord and Lady Ford will surrender eventually, and when they do, we'll have them, the heir to the Ford estate, and their entire inner circle."

"Why didn't you tell me about this before, Vania?" her father asked.

"I handled it." Vania clenched her hands beneath the table as all eyes turned in her direction. "The servant has been appropriately punished, only the youngest children escaped, and the siege remains on schedule."

"Appropriately punished?" echoed Gawnt. "How?"

"Reduction, of course."

"Did you interrogate her first?" he asked. Vania wondered whether or not the man was capable of speaking without spittle flying from his lips. "Did she give any information that might help us track down this Poppy?"

"She was an idiot!" Vania insisted. "She didn't even need the Reduction pill, she was so stupid. She handed those children off to a random old woman who gave her counterfeit money. She knew nothing of consequence."

"Well, we'll never know now, will we, Captain Aldred?" Spittle, spittle.

Vania bristled, and bristled even more when her father, of all people, came to her rescue.

"The salient point here is that this Albian spy is stepping up his activities on our soil," her father said, and all other conversation ceased. "It is time we respond with force and shut him down for good. We need to find out his ident.i.ty and neutralize him."

"Which is why an interrogation of witnesses might have been prudent," Gawnt murmured. Louder, he said, "Is there any doubt the kind of person we're looking for? Clearly, this is the case of an Albian aristo who is frustrated by what he feels is the utter uselessness of the child princess currently ruling their country." He sneered in Vania's direction.

She imagined all the instruments on the dinner table that might make a suitable weapon. How dare he liken her to Princess Isla of Albion? Some inbred, spoiled-brat, empty-headed aristo who wouldn't even be allowed the appearance of ruling if the infant king were old enough to take the throne? They were nothing alike at all.

"Do we keep any records of what aristos have been visiting the island?" Citizen Aldred asked.

"If they pa.s.s through the Halahou docks," said the general. "But there are plenty of unregistered moorings all over the island. It's unlikely that the spy is going through the city unless he has to."

"I think it's time to go to the source," said Vania. "The Albians are sending spies to us. Perhaps it's time we send our own spies to their sh.o.r.es, find out who's responsible for the raids. There must be gossip in the Albian courta""

"Enough, Vania," said her father. "Just because you're sitting at this table does not mean you can forget your rank. General Gawnt knows what he's doing here."

"But, Papaa""

"I said enough!" Citizen Aldred brought his hand down on the table.

Vania stared at her father, her eyes wide and unblinking. She would not cry in front of these people. Under the table, she twisted her napkin until it tore.

Gawnt proceeded to drone on, outlining his plan to ensnare the Albian spy and getting in quite a few jabs at Vania's expense. After a while, she tuned him out. She tuned them all out. Instead, she thought of her long-ago ancestor, the military leader who'd cracked apart the Earth and killed every person he hated in one fell swoop.

Eight.

THE GALATEAN PERSIS HAD brought home to her parents strode forward and bowed to the Blakes. Persis trailed behind, concerned both about how the revolutionary Justen planned to behave and what her parents must be thinking.

"Lord and Lady Blake, thank you so much for your hospitalitya""

"Not at all," said her father. "Had my daughter truly been hospitable, you wouldn't have spent last night in some back bedroom. I don't know what Persis was thinking."