That night I spent some time looking up Zavier’s records. He’d arrived with two others, both apparently also from Rison, Mars. One was a short, Asian woman with glossy black hair, age twenty-five, going by the name of Amber Lee. The other was a narrow-faced man called Jermaine Elsewich. Now that had to be a fake name, although at least in his picture he still had natural-looking brown hair. His age was listed as twenty-seven.
I hadn’t seen either of them around the resort, but with thousands of guests, that was no surprise. The fact that Zavier had even seen me…that meant he’d been looking for me.
Hmmm. And he said he’d had a thing for Iscee…
I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, the gentle lights casting a flattering glow over my naturally tanned skin. The black and blue hair wasn’t so natural, but it wasn’t the only thing that stopped me from looking like Iscee. We might have had almost identical features, but Iscee had been a tomboy, lean as a racehorse with wild brown hair. She’d never worn makeup, and her clothing had been adequate rather than beautiful. She just hadn’t cared.
As for me, I enjoyed messing around with my appearance to perfect my eyebrows or my lips, and I was a size bigger than she had been. With my carefully applied makeup and clothing, I’d thought the difference was distinct. But perhaps that was a matter of opinion, and DNA couldn’t be so easily hidden.
I slept well enough in spite of the weird interaction, then went about my regular workday. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the Breaker and about what he’d said about Iscee…and about the Duke.
He’d wanted her sorry, not dead…. He kept watching for her tracker to move from the bottom of the swamp, but it never did…
A twinge of grief or anger shot through me at those thoughts, but instead of feeding it, I took a deep, calming breath. Life was short (more so for some than others) and it could be difficult, but I knew something that Iscee hadn’t. Being angry all the time might feel like it made you strong, but really it was like was feeding yourself a slow, steady dose of poison.
I used to be angry in the past, easily offended, but time and even trouble had changed me. At some point I’d just decided not to carry grudges anymore, and I was so much more relaxed. Holding grudges, even legitimate ones, didn’t improve my life at all. They just tied me to the trouble and the pain, and stopped me from really leaving it behind.
Well, that was my deep musing for the day. Back to work, back to my rounds of all the bars, making sure everything was working as it should. After a while I got caught up in the hundred small, fixable problems enough to forget that bigger problem – the one with green hair.
But then that afternoon, when I returned to Bar Four, there he was again. Zavier/Jank Marshal, sitting on a side bench and with his mirrored sunglasses directed right at my face. I smiled politely and he gave me a rueful little wave, then looked away. But when I glanced back again a few minutes later, he was still staring. Just…staring. While it was nice that he was focusing on my face rather than other body parts like some other guests did, it was becoming a little uncomfortable.
Finally I went over to him. “Do you need something?”
“Ah. Sorry, I was staring again, wasn’t I? It’s just that you really do look like…like her.”
“Our mothers were twins,” I replied briskly, not for the first time. “But in colouring and body type we’re not at all alike.” That was what hair dye and chocolate were for.
“Yes, but your face…” He saw the expression on mine and sighed. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been remarkably rude, again. Can I make it up to you by buying you lunch?”
“I don’t know. Will it involve a long, soul-cleansing conversation about your employer and my dead cousin?”
He flinched when I said ‘dead’, but shook his head. “Nothing about Iscee, I promise. You can tell me about life here on Optus. It sounds like a dream.”
I looked around the room, but no one was watching us. And I still…still didn’t trust this guy, but in truth? I wanted to talk, and even about Iscee. So I sat down next to him and talked.
We chatted about my life and his, about how the best part of the resort was its peacefulness, but also how I wanted to experience life outside but wasn’t sure how to go about it. We talked about how he felt trapped in his position – but then he’d cut that part short, saying that it might not be for much longer anyway. It seemed that the Ducal Guard’s time in Vyce was limited. In four days there would be a Dome-wide vote over whether to continue with the same ruling system or whether Vyce Dome would become a democracy like so many of its neighbours. If the second option was chosen, then Jank-Zavier would lose his job. But since the decision would be made by every Vyce citizen voting…it sounded to me like they’d already made their choice.
“What do you think will happen?” I asked curiously. “Do you think the High Duke will be voted in or out?”
He shrugged pensively. “I’ve no idea. He’s been far more responsible these past two years, but the issue remains that even if he was a good ruler, his heir might not be, or his heir’s heir. You can’t guarantee the future.”
“You can’t guarantee it with democracy either, but I suppose we’ll give it our best try,” I commented. “At least that way we could get rid of any democratic leader if we didn’t like them. Do you like the High Duke?”
Jank-Zavier let out a short, startled laugh. “Uh…interesting question, Aria. I suppose in some ways I can’t stand him, but in others I feel compelled to take care of him. He doesn’t have any family worth mentioning, no one who could hold him accountable for his actions. He thought…well, that the Breakers were his family. Or as close as anyone could be, anyway.”
“But he conscripted them!” I blurted out, shocked. “How was that supposed to work?”
He shrugged. “He was clueless, but he’s a lot better than he used to be. You know there’s no conscription anymore, hasn’t been since…well. And Breakers now have a maximum of six days’ work in an eight-day period, and no more than 50 hours per week. Pay’s gone up, too.” He frowned. “Although we did lose a lot of people once conscription ended, we also gained some when he tightened the rules on Breaker code of conduct.”
Those weren’t great hours, but hardly slave labour. I probably worked more than that on the resort. “That’s not too bad. What did it used to be like?”
He scowled. “Different. Do you want to meet him?”
“What?”
“The High Duke,” he enunciated. “Do you want to meet him?”
“You said he wasn’t here.”
Jank-Zavier looked awkward, as much as I could tell under those sunglasses he still wore. “Um… he’s not. It was a stupid question, forget I even asked.”
I studied him suspiciously. “OK… Look, I have to go. But you can tell the High Duke…wherever he is…that I forgive him. Assuming he needs or wants my forgiveness. Maybe Iscee’s family would have lost their land anyway, since most of the Olders on Mars have, and maybe he couldn’t have changed that. Although I still think he’s a bit of a grawlix, and he’ll have to work through any guilt on his own.”
He let out a short laugh, but nodded. “I hear you.”
I put out my hand to shake his. “In case I don’t see you again, I wish you all the best.”
He looked down at my hand as if I’d offered him a spider (what, did I have Optus germs or something?) and then reluctantly shook it, pulling his hand away almost immediately. And while that would usually be rude and weird, there was a change in his face that happened when we touched. No, not a change of expression, but a strange, shifting surface change, almost like his skin and features shimmered. It lasted only an instant, but it caught my attention.
That wasn’t normal, but I did know what it could be. One particular device for one particular purpose. All the rich, secretive people were using those devices now, even though they were barely legal. So quicker than Jank-Zavier could react, I lifted my hand and touched his lightly stubbled cheek. He pulled away, but it was too late. I’d already felt smooth skin, and the touch made his face briefly distort even further.
I stepped back, belligerently setting both hands on my hips. “You’re wearing a face changer, aren’t you?!”
“Aria…”
“I can’t believe this!” I turned away briefly, almost laughing at the shock of it. Sometimes surprise made me act in inappropriate ways. “Don’t tell me you got that on a Breaker’s salary, because I won’t believe it. Who are you really, Jank-Zavier Marshal?”
He looked at me solemnly, the expression not sitting quite right on those features, and I realised that this was why some of his expressions had seemed awkward; why he’d worn the sunglasses. Face changers were never really effective with the eyes, because they moved around too much. But then he reached up behind his ear, pressing the small disc I knew would be there, and the person before me changed. In an instant I was looking at an entirely different person from the neck up: with similar classical bones but a squarer, smooth-skinned jaw, and with black eyebrows barely visible above those shades. His hair changed from forest green to darkest brown.
I reached up to pull off his sunglasses, and his eyes had changed too. Now they were larger, almost black, with thick eyelashes like a girl’s. Younger than the false face, a little better-looking.
I knew this face. I’d seen it on a thousand holo-vids, and in other places, although not looking so grown up.
“I’m sorry,” the High Duke said.
I just stared at him, shaking my head in disbelief. Then I really did start laughing: not just because it was inappropriate and I couldn’t seem to help myself, but because it was so, so remarkably ironic. And he had no idea…
“Sorry for what?” I asked when I could finally speak again. “Sorry for lying to me repeatedly when I asked you if you were here? Sorry for giving me a false name, twice? Sorry for trying to get sympathy by pretending to be somebody else? Or sorry for that horrible green hair you inflicted on the world?”
His jaw tightened, but those dark eyes didn’t leave my face. “For all of that, even though the part about sympathy isn’t true. I thought that if you knew I was here, you’d kick me out. You wouldn’t want to speak to me. And I was…selfish, again. I wanted to see you.”
Back when I thought he was someone else, I’d accidently asked his opinion about himself. Good grief. “Because I look like Iscee,” I prompted, half-sarcastically. “Who you had a big crush on, is that right?”
His cheeks turned red, but he didn’t lower his eyes from mine. “Yes. I had a huge crush on her, even though I acted like a little monster and she couldn’t stand me. And then she died.”
He’d forgotten to mention the part about her stealing his mother’s dowry: the catalyst to her family’s land being confiscated and every other ugly thing that had happened afterward. “Her family told me everything they knew,” I said instead. “You were a little monster. You’re a bit bigger now.” A lot bigger, in fact. They’d described a boy. This was a young man – a tall, lanky young man who’d achieved his adult height, but would probably fill out over the next few years. “Are you wearing a voice changer?”
The High Duke shook his head. “I was injured last year in an attempted assassination, and my throat is still healing. I guess you didn’t hear about that up here on Optus.” He watched me curiously, that new face so very different from the other… But those faint scars on the neck hadn’t gone away. Interesting. “But how would you know how my voice sounds? I haven’t given an interview in years.”
I shrugged. “It made sense that you’d changed your voice if you’d changed your face.”
“Of course.” He looked away, something in the mid-distance seeming easier to look at than me. “I suppose your forgiveness doesn’t apply now that you know who I am.”
“Maybe it doesn’t,” I said honestly. It was a lot easier to forgive some random Breaker, another minion like Iscee had been, rather than the supervillain himself. “You say you’ve changed, but did you give the Coles their land back? Did you do everything you could to make up for what you did to all of them, not just Iscee?”
He was quiet for a while. “Iscee is dead, Aria, and all over a few stupid rocks. Surely that’s worse than losing…land.”
“Yes, but not giving it back is adding insult to injury,” I retorted. “And did you just call those diamonds ‘stupid rocks’?”
“They are stupid! They’re not worth dying over.”
Wow. Just…wow. “So you’ve forgiven her for stealing from you?” I asked, genuinely curious.
He nodded brusquely. “Of course. It was my fault she was driven to that in the first place.”
I pondered his words for a few moments. He really seemed serious, and I struggled to reconcile this repentant young man in front of me with the stories of vicious, vengeful Shandlin. So I pushed back my fear and confusion, and took refuge in false confidence. Then I asked that question that just kept nagging me. “Yeah, it was your fault,” I agreed lightly. “She made her own choices, but that was definitely your fault. Um…did you really mean what you said about loving her?”
The High Duke scoffed. “I didn’t know how to love anyone. But in my own way I did care for her – not that it matters now.”
Interesting. He looked so miserable that I actually felt sorry for him, so I didn’t point out the obvious truth that if you cared for someone, you didn’t do what he’d done. But what could I say now? “Well, I suppose justice has been done, if you’re looking for an eye for an eye. The vote’s in four days. You’re just about to lose everything, aren’t you?”
“Probably. But Iscee is still dead, isn’t she? Justice won’t be done until I fall right into a swamp-mare’s mouth.”
I sighed heavily. “Please don’t do that. Guilt only takes you so far. But if you really want to make up for it, you can promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t say that, or I might hold you to it! No, I want you to promise that if you get to stay High Duke, then all the families from Unity will get their land back, even if they didn’t become Vyce citizens.” A surprising number of people had chosen to leave Mars rather than give up the apparent safety of Earth citizenship. “Oh, and a posthumous pardon for Iscee.”
“I had her pardoned eighteen months ago. As for the rest, I’ve applied for a bill to have the land returned on the condition that taxes are paid to Vyce rather than Old World.” He shrugged, looking away. “Even if they aren’t Vyce citizens.”
Now that surprised me – the first part, anyway. “That seems fair. Now like I said, I have to get back to work. I think it would be better if you put that fake face back on. The real Zavier isn’t here, I presume? Did he give permission for you to use his identity?”
The High Duke looked at me suspiciously. “His face, but not his identity, so I messed up there. But how did you know there was a real Zavier?”
My heart skipped in sudden panic, but I rolled my eyes. “I was making an assumption, and you’ve just confirmed I was right. Please stop acting as if you’re suddenly going to catch me out and I’m suddenly going to admit that I’m really Iscee, then pull off my own face changer. I’m sorry, but life’s just not that tidy. You saw what happened to her.”
He still looked unconvinced, so I turned and lifted the heavy mass of my hair to reveal my ears. “See? No face-changer. It’s just me.”
I felt the gentle touch of his hand against the back of my ear, and then he sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “Just wishful thinking. I’m sorry, Aria.”
“I’m sorry too,” I told him. And in a way, I was.
I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened, and Judee finally noticed my mood change during her visit the next day. “What’s the problem?”
Should I tell her? “Just someone from Iscee’s past wanting to talk,” I said finally. “It’s a bit draining.” And confusing, and scary, and even more confusing. The High Duke wasn’t what I’d expected. Not at all. And if he wasn’t lying, then maybe some other assumptions were wrong too, and then my whole worldview would need to change…
“Ah, must be the trio from Vyce. Are they giving you trouble?” she asked sharply. “They’re not due to leave until tomorrow, but I can ask them to go earlier if you need me to.” She lowered her voice. “You can leave, if you feel you need to.”
Giving me trouble? I bit back hysterical laughter. “Thank you, Judee, but it wouldn’t help business to turn customers away, even…difficult ones. No, I can manage another day. And I’m definitely not ready to go, not when I just got here. It’s all just talk, anyway.”
But it wasn’t all just talk. The very next morning I received a holo-message, one of the kinds only available on the resort for guests to talk to each other. The video was blank, probably because the face-changers stopped it working properly. “I promise this is the last time I’ll ask,” came the High Duke’s altered voice; “but could I see you one more time before I go? It’ll be brief, I promise.”
Wow, that was two ‘I promises’. He must really want me to believe him, I mused.
I stood there with one hand on my communicator, fear warring with curiosity, and perhaps even sympathy. The High Duke was the whole reason for The Secret. Sure, he might be far more attractive now, and even elicit a little compassion with that show of grief for Iscee, but if it wasn’t for him, then none of this would have happened. The last two years would have looked very, very different.
I shouldn’t go. I should let him leave along with his two friends who were probably his guards, and never see him again. Maybe I should even make that call on the communicator; vanish to the other side of Optus or even Earth until he disappeared again.
But somehow I found myself lifting my hand to that holo-message, and tapping on the ‘send reply’ panel. “I’ll meet you at Bar Four.”
The reply came almost immediately. “We’re leaving in half an hour. Can you come to my bungalow?”
I hesitated a moment, then shrugged. Bungalow, bar, what did it matter? I replied in the affirmative. Sure, I’d meet him. But I still made a quick communicator call to Judee, then another to the Earth family. If I didn’t contact them again within an hour, they should panic.
Then I headed for the bungalow. And vain girl that I was, I couldn’t help myself checking my reflection in the mirror as I went. It was best to look good when meeting one’s nemesis, again.
Ten minutes later my hoverbike pulled up outside the generous bungalow assigned to ‘Jank Marshal’. It was middle-of-the-range for what we offered here on Paradise, with tropical flowers winding their way up the walls and onto the roof, and it was right at the beach front. (But then so was everything; since the beach had been designed around the resort.)
Over the back of the bungalow was a small, private space shuttle, the sort that could make it all the way back to Mars, although probably not to Earth. Most moderate payers didn’t have those.
A narrow-faced young man was sitting on a chair outside the front door, leaning back as if relaxed, but with a subtle tension to his posture that told me he had to be a guard. I couldn’t remember his name except that it was something stupid, so probably fake. When he saw me he sprang upright, then called in through the open door, “She’s here.”
“Great!” the High Duke called back. “Tell her to come in!”
The guard nodded towards the door. “He says to-”
“Come in?” I cut in wryly. “Yes, I heard.” But I found myself pausing at the threshold. Somehow being on his territory – even though it was my resort – felt a little risky.
“Go on,” the guard told me sardonically. “He doesn’t bite.”
My pride stung, I lifted my chin and stepped inside. He was standing inside the bungalow’s entry parlour, dressed as if to leave, and almost vibrating with some unrecognisable emotion. Or perhaps he’d just taken one of those energy pills so popular with some of our guests.
“I thought you wouldn’t come,” he said.
Geez, try not to look so needy. “I just came to hear what you wanted to say. You said it would be brief.”
“Of course, of course. I have something to show you. You’ll want to see this.”
“Okay…” I followed him across the room to a table in the middle of the parlour. It was designed to look like mother-of-pearl set into glass, all very pretty, but that wasn’t what he was showing me. No, there were two thin slides sitting side by side in the middle of the table – printouts full of fine text almost like shopping receipts. I looked at them, then up at him. “What are these?”
Behind me I heard the door open and close again, admitting the guard, and I saw someone else short and dark-haired in the corner of my eye. The hairs on the back of my neck began to prickle.
“Sample A and sample B,” the High Duke said cheerfully, tapping at the nearest slide. “Look at the results at the end. See?”
I studied the information. All I could see were symbols and numbers and things that didn’t make any sense to me, and at the end: samples match. “I don’t understand.” But I was getting a bad feeling about this…
“I think you do, Iscee. You just still think you can lie your way out of this.” And now he was actually grinning, hands rubbing together as if in ecstasy. “You horrible, terrible, awful person. I can’t believe you let me think you were dead! You let everyone think you were dead.”
Uh oh. Just….no. Fear flooded me and my heart skipped a beat in my chest, then began beating double-time to make up for it.
Iscee. He’d called me Iscee. “I’m not Iscee. I’m Aria Mav-”
“Don’t even bother lying,” he cut in, a wide grin splitting his face. He was beaming.. “Look. Look at this.” And then he waved his hand over the two slides on the table, and the text changed. Instead of ‘Sample A’ and ‘Sample B’, it now read, ‘Iscendra Cole’ and ‘Aria Mavick’. Samples match. “DNA doesn’t lie, Iscee, so you don’t need to either. These tests show that you’re Iscee. Iscendra.”
Ah, suds suds suds suds suds suds suds suds! He was clearly convinced, and it was going to take a lot to get him to think otherwise. But in spite of the harsh words his tone was actually happy, and I shook my head in horrified dismay, looking around behind me to the two waiting guards. One of them was the small Asian woman I’d seen in the customer records, but she had a face as expressionless as a mannequin. “Please tell me he doesn’t actually think I’m my cousin.”
The male guard shrugged. The woman stared at me blankly, but didn’t answer.
“Sure do,” the High Duke said cheerfully from behind me. “I accidently got one of your hairs yesterday when I touched your neck. And of course we already had your details on record from when you were conscripted, so there it is. You’re not dead. You’re not dead!”
No, no, this was terrible. I felt coldness run through my whole body even as I shook my head. Fear, panic. Two years worth of The Secret, just to end up at this point. “I’m not dead. Iscee is.”
“What, are you going to say they messed up the samples? I was suspicious after you knew some details that no one else should have, and I had the test run twice, Iscee. I know it’s you. I don’t blame you for trying to hide your identity, but the game’s up. Time to tell me how you faked getting swallowed by that swamp-mare – it was a hologram, right? And you must have had that tracker removed and left at the bottom of the swamp…”
I was still shaking my head. “You want to know if someone was so desperate to get away from you that they faked being eaten alive? That makes you feel better?”
“Yes! Yes, sooo much better.”
There was a long silence, then finally I sat down on the nearest chair, feeling very solemn. He was still smiling, but that smile faded in reaction to my expression. “DNA does sometimes lie, Your Grace, because no matter what those tests say, I’m not Iscendra Cole. I’m Aria Mavick.” Then I told the story that was part of The Secret, but that I’d rarely had to mention. “We’re twins.”