Free Cenotaxis by Sean Williams Page A

few reluctant collaborators in my time."
    The accusation haunts me now for reasons I am unable to fathom. Haven't I fought him at every step? Haven't I done everything in my power to deny his will? There is surely no more I can do to prove that I am the exact opposite of who he believes I am. And yet I do not know how I was captured. The uncertainty surrounding that fateful day eats at me.
    He has sowed doubt in me, and it grows against every ounce of will I throw against it.
    An hour after nightfall, I hear a rattling at the door of my cell. I sit up straight, assuming Bergamasc has come to berate me again. My eyes open wide when I see who it is, creeping around the edge of the door like a shadow down a wall.
    "Hello," whispers Alice-Angeles, taking me in with eyes perfectly equipped for infrared.
    I scramble to my feet. "What are you doing here?"
    "Rescuing you, if you want to be rescued," she says, coming closer. In her arms she cradles a heavy rifle. "We heard about what Bergamasc intends for tomorrow. Our supporters in the Round pulled every possible favor to give you this one, last chance. Are you coming?"
    I open my mouth to tell her no. The mental battle is more important than the physical. Winning the latter without the former would be empty and pointless.
    But what if Alice-Angeles' arrival is fate in action? If I turn my back on it, what does that make me? Wouldn't that prove Bergamasc right?
    Her expression is determinedly neutral by the thin wedge of starlight allowed into the cell.
    "All right," I say, taking her hand and accepting her help getting to my feet. I am stiff from my years of relative inactivity. I can feel long-disused chemical pathways reactivating all down my limbs. "Where are we going?"
    "We've commandeered an airship and equipped it with counterfeit authorization codes. It's docked on the pad outside. We incapacitated the guards with airborne agents. You're still immune to Zebedee, obviously."
    I nod. Yes, obviously, or I'd be out cold too. We had prepared for just such a contingency, never expecting we'd actually need it. "There must be security AIs in place."
    "We're keeping them as busy as possible without drawing too much attention to our efforts. Really, the security here is very slack. The enemy has become overconfident."
    "You could probably have done this months ago, if I'd let you."
    "Yes," she said. "I'm too good at following orders."
    "Yes, you are." I clap her on the shoulder and try to squeeze, filled with a surprising affection for her bland self-appreciation, but the armor of her camouflage suit stiffens instantly in resistance. "Let's get moving, shall we?"
    She doesn't waste time acknowledging the order. I follow her out of the door and into the short corridor I have seen only once before. It leads to a spiral staircase that winds down to the distant ground. The steps are old and worn but impeccably clean. No doors or windows break the interior stonework at any point during our descent. My breath comes heavily before I reach halfway. Soon enough, though, my body adjusts to the sudden demand and the fire in my lungs eases.
    Two frags in black await us at the bottom. I don't recognize either of them. The night air is cool and free against my cheeks, and I am surprised to find myself unconsciously weeping. Trees stand out in the lights of the landing field. I have almost forgotten what green looks like.
    Above me, intact and whole, stands the magnificent form of Vulcan, still staring expectantly up at the stars.
    Then all is motion and urgency. More frags wave from the base of a waiting airship, an adaptive hull design currently shaped like a fat spheroid, ten meters across. Alice-Angeles tugs me out into the open. A pang of agoraphobia strikes me. I have been confined so long that I can barely walk. The problem lies not in my legs or lungs, but my head. How can we possibly maintain our cover so long? Our luck must surely run out soon!
    That eventuality arrives in the form of