"Good-bye, Mischa." He gripped her hands hard, claws retracted.
"Be careful." She embraced each of the others, wishing them well.
"When you get to the Sphere," Val said, "tell them we are still alive. Tell them not to send their renegades here anymore. Tell them our children should not have to be born crippled."
"I will. I promise."
Silent and strange, they left her alone with Subtwo.
Still naked, and of all his possessions only a microcomputer and two library input banks neatly stacked behind him, he was sitting at his console, moving his hands among the controls of his links to the Palace intercom, flipping the image from camera to camera.
"What are you doing?" Mischa cried it out; guiltily, startled, he pushed himself away from the console. Mischa needed no more proof for her suspicions. She smashed her fist against the master power control and fused the panel with the laser lance.
"I was only trying to. contact someone."
"I'll bet."
"Not to call for help—"
"Come on. I want to get Jan."
"But I must—"
"No!"
He gazed down at the ruined console, at the blank, gray, depthless screens. "But she will think I did not care."
"Hurry up!" Mischa did not listen to him; she had no patience for his petty intrigues and affaires, and the despair she felt from him would have to wait for any sympathy: she believed it to be because he was leaving Subone.
Shoulders slumped, Subtwo crossed the room, found one of his blue-gray coveralls, and put it on while Mischa fumed impatiently.
Chapter 16
From her childhood, when Stone Palace had been a busier place, Val remembered the ways from one level to the next, and led her people through halls and alice tubes. She was glad she had left the children behind, safe, for they would be frightened and there was no time for reassurance or explanations. Simon stalked beside her, wary of the differences between this and what he was used to: light everywhere, passages more regular than any watercourse, the vast overuse of fabric, and finally the internal distortions of the alice tube as it drifted them slowly upward. Only Gemmi liked the feeling.
Val expected guards when they reached the main level, and her people were ready, but no one and nothing awaited them. She posted guards of her own, at the tube, at the silent barracks wing. The Palace had never used electronic surveillance fifteen years before, but that was during the old Lord's time; Blaisse, his son, had always been much more suspicious and frightened of threats from the city. But everyone behind her knew the danger; everyone had agreed to what they were doing. She led them deeper into ornate corridors.
The ancient, senile old Lord used to wander through these halls, never very far from his living suite, and the children would fall silent in their playing when he passed. Val could almost see his ghost, drifting among the jewels and metallic embroidery, where he had never seemed quite comfortable.
Val sent her people around the suites. Here, she knew, there would be guards, but perhaps not many, since it was winter. She had to drag all this information back from years of trying to forget it.
The first guard was dozing in a comfortable chair; Val remembered that it was night, though the dim illumination of Center's darkness had been, to her, like day.
She and Simon crept up on the young man. Simon held him by the throat, ignoring the fingernails clawing at his hands, until the man collapsed unconscious. They tied him with gold ropes.
The room beyond the small foyer was dark. Val pushed the curtain aside, letting in a shaft of light; the trim of baubles clinked and jangled.
"Who's there?"
Somehow, Val's biggest surprise of all was that she remembered her cousin's voice perfectly. She had to fumble a bit for the light controclass="underline" it was no longer at shoulder height. Even with the inadequate diet of the underground, Val had grown taller. The lights came on slowly, automatically set so they would not dazzle any royal person's delicate eyes.
"Hello, cousin," Val said.
Clarissa sat up in the wide, low bed, sleepily. She was still beautiful and elegant, but now in a slovenly sort of way. She had changed, as much as Val or more; she had been sent to Stone Palace by bad luck of being firstborn of her Family. It was much too easy to do nothing here. When they were children, all of them knew what their work would be, except Blaisse and his younger brother, who knew they would have no work.
". Val?" Next to her, the pretty sleeping boy reacted to Clarissa's voice. Beginning to wake, he shifted, and Val could see the marks of Clarissa's fingernails and her whip on his back. Clarissa glanced at him and snatched a crop from her bedside. "Wake up!"
"Don't"—Val shouted as Clarissa raised her arm—"do that," she finished in a normal tone as her cousin jerked back the short whip. The boy cringed behind his arm.
"You never used to be so solicitous of slaves."
"I never used to know any better." Val was impressed by her cousin's composure, though she had not known what reaction to expect.
"So you're alive."
"That was the whole point, wasn't it?"
"Yes, I suppose it was, on the surface. But they really wanted you to die, you know. They just couldn't do it themselves."
"I know. Get up, Clarissa."
Blaisse's guard was awake, but could not oppose them without endangering the Lady. Val held her tightly by the arm, and it was not until the guard's laser lance hit the floor that Clarissa's taut muscles relaxed. Her laugh held an edge of fear. "Blaisse won't thank you for that." Leaving the guard well bound, they moved through the library, down the stairs. "I didn't know," Clarissa said, "what he might have told them to do if this ever happened." It seemed to Val quite characteristic of Blaisse that he would never have told them anything. The subject of an attempted coup was not one he would wish to contemplate.
They found him sleeping peacefully, like a child, his head pillowed on the breast of his slave.
"What do you intend to do with me?" Blaisse had tried to run away and Simon had caught and hit him; now the Lord nursed a bruised cheek and would look only at Val.
"Perhaps—exile you? Drive you to the deep underground?"
"I had nothing to do with what happened to you."
"No," Val said. "Of course not. You stood up and said, 'She's a human being like the rest of us, how can we do this to her?'"
He had the grace, at least, to flush. "Well, what could I do?"
"Never mind, Blaisse. You can make up for it now. You can go to the Families and tell them that the underground people hold the Palace, and that I am with them and of them."
"You want me. to go. out there?"
"You're mad!" Clarissa said. "They'll come and tear you all to bits."
"Cousin, you know better. They couldn't assassinate me even when I was a child. And if my Family could allow the others to kill me, would yours allow your death?"
"You expect me to stay here?"
"What do you care if you're my hostage, or Blaisse's?"
"They'll cut off the electricity—they'll turn out the lights—"
"You helped send me into darkness! Do you think we need their light to survive?"
"Val," Clarissa said more reasonably, "the Palace and the Families are balanced very carefully against each other. If you disturb the balance." She let her explanation trail off meaningfully.
"I remember all the plans our Families had. But they won't work against anyone who doesn't need all this." She glanced around Blaisse's bedroom. It no longer looked as grand as it had when she was a child, only overly ornate, and here and there a bit shabby.