"King of what?" I asked.

"Of whatever you want," Gashwan answered. "Mandasars. Or humans. Possibly both."

"Because of the pheromones," I mumbled. "Because I’m like a queen and can simulate…" I didn’t finish the sentence.

"When your father first came to Troyen," Gashwan said, "he saw the possibilities. Queens can consciously manufacture Mandasar pheromones; what if somebody created a being who could make human ones too? A secret weapon for swaying people to your side. The ultimate diplomat."

"The ultimate admiral," Festina murmured. "Manipulator supreme. Old Alexander must have dreamed of becoming royal himself."

"He couldn’t," Gashwan told her. "His DNA was entirely human: incompatible with the transformation he had in mind. He had to settle for making clones of himself — ninety-nine percent like the original, but with a sampling of transplanted Mandasar genes to pave the way for more changes later on…"

Festina nodded, as if she’d already known. That’s why she’d asked if I was bioengineered. She must have guessed I’d need fancied-up DNA if I was going to become… um…

…more than human.

The idea made me shiver — I was supposed to be Dad’s ideal of a superman.

Except that I was stupid. Supermen shouldn’t be stupid. Why would he deliberately ask for that?

Gashwan had already answered the question: so I wouldn’t realize what was being done to me.

"I was the guinea pig," I whispered.

"That’s right." Gashwan patted me fondly on the arm. "When Innocence started suckling from Verity, so did you."

"Thanks to the nano," Festina said, "that your sister commissioned from the Fasskisters. The nanites dosed Edward little by little over the course of the year… and Verity never knew it was happening. I assume you had a second batch of nanites that brought venom to your lab instead of to Edward?"

"Of course," Gashwan replied. "We needed to analyze the venom at every stage so we could reproduce it for Samantha later on. We also needed to test all kinds of medical techniques to make sure we could keep a human alive through a full year of venom poisoning… and through the transformation." She gave me a smile. "If it’s any consolation, the things we learned working on you made it much easier when we did the same for Samantha. Your contribution saved her a lot of pain. Sam transformed into a queen as easily as a natural-born Mandasar… all thanks to you."

Oh good — I’d fulfilled my one and only purpose. I’d been engineered as a near-genetic double to my sister, so I’d be the best possible guinea pig later on. A good testing ground before the doctors started on the real patient. I was just the disposable prototype, the one they’d throw away after they learned how to do things right.

So here’s the honest truth: I wasn’t a superman, I was a super-Neanderthal. Close to the real thing, but a dead end. Sam was the true progenitor — by the time the war started, she must have had some secret medical facility all prepared so Gashwan could put her through the same treatments I got. Sam was given the pheromone powers of a queen, but she stayed looking human, so no one would suspect what a threat she was. Over time, she’d eliminated her competition, built her big Black Army, and conquered the planet.

What was next? The League of Peoples would never let her leave Troyen, that was for darned sure; but she could have children. The next generation would still look human, so they’d have no trouble sneaking onto Technocracy worlds. After that, how long would it take for them to manipulate their way into top positions of power? A few decades maybe. My father would have himself a dynasty, secretly dominating human space.

But the dynasty would come from Sam, not me. I was never destined for anything but the trash heap.

Funny… for a long time, I’d felt guilty wearing an Explorer’s uniform when I didn’t think I deserved it. But surprise, surprise, I’d been perfectly suited for the Explorer Corps from the moment of my conception. No one could possibly be more expendable than me.

"Why did you do it?" Festina asked Gashwan. "Why did you help Samantha with everything? You’re too smart to think she’d be grateful — it’s a wonder Sam didn’t kill you as soon as she’d gone through her transformation."

"She would have tried," Gashwan agreed. "But I ran off to join Queen Temperance a few days before the job was done. My assistants finished the process. I doubt if they’ve been seen since."

"Then why?" Festina asked again. "Why help a ruthless murderer?"

"Because it was interesting," Gashwan said, as if that should have been obvious. "A pretty little challenge. And because I owed Alexander York a favor."

"What favor?" I asked.

She pointed to her nose: the old ugly scar running the length of her snout. "He gave me this."

Festina stared. "Alexander York hurt you? Damaged your face?"

Gashwan shook her head. "Alexander York helped me, with something no Mandasar would have done. He got human surgeons to destroy my sense of smell." She reached up with a wrinkled hand and stroked the scar affectionately. "They weren’t very skilled at dealing with Mandasars, but they got the job done. It’s trickier than you’d think — not just excising the olfactory nerves, but creating enough scar tissue inside the nostrils that the membranes can’t absorb odor molecules."

"But why?" Festina asked.

"To be free," Gashwan said. "Free of control by queens. Free of being terrified by warriors. Free of getting my moods altered by anyone who walked by. I got my brain into a state I liked, then cut the cords so no one could change me."

"That’s why you could betray Verity," I muttered.

"Why I was valuable to Verity," Gashwan corrected. "Other doctors told the queen what she wanted to hear; I told the truth. Mostly. The same with Temperance — she appreciated me because I couldn’t be swayed like other people around her. I’m the reason Temperance survived the war as long as she did. Smart objective advice. And now that Temperance is gone, I’m the one in charge, aren’t I? Because my brain isn’t muddled by every whiff of sweat drifting on the breeze. I’ve become my own queen."

Festina looked at me; I caught her gaze but said nothing. Like it or not, Mandasar society depended on communication smells: conveying emotions, providing feedback, tuning folks in to each other. Humans do the same with tone of voice and body language. Rejecting all that, Gashwan had become a sort of sociopath, untouched by the people around her. Disconnected.

Which is why she could go along with Dad and Sam, when their plan would lead Troyen into war. Gashwan thought it was interesting — a pretty little challenge.

If she wasn’t crazy before her nose got hacked up, she sure was now.

"Hey, kids," Tobit’s voice sounded in my ear, "you want a status report?"

"You’re on the roof?" Festina asked.

"More like an open parapet walk… though Mandasar architecture doesn’t conform much to the medieval European school. A true parapet needs some nice machicolations running alongside—"

"Phylar," Festina interrupted, "shut up and talk to me."

"Sure thing, your admiral-tude." I could hear the grin in his voice. "The bad guys have sent us four Larries: three outside the walls and one inside. They aren’t firing at the moment — just hovering and scaring the crap out of everybody. The guards are taking potshots at them, but arrows bounce right off."

"What about Kaisho?" Festina asked. "Any sign of her?"

"You’ve lost Kaisho?"

"Kaisho lost herself."

"Isn’t that disquieting." Tobit went silent a moment, then came back on. "I don’t have a good view, but the moss up front might be glowing brighter. Could just be my imagination."