Once the idea of using Jonah’s cuff to observe Caesarion dug its claws into me, shaking them loose was a lost cause. The logistics of making it happen—without getting caught and without shaming my family—had kept me up half the night, and no amount of rationalizing settled my nerves. Perhaps it was the Historians’ ability to move unquestioned through time and space, but our Elders had always seemed omnipotent. They weren’t, though.
Most likely.
There were seven Elders at each of the twelve Academies, but they weren’t figureheads. They taught us in addition to doing their own research, and had better things to do than spy on teenagers. No one ruled or presided over anyone else once we’d been certified in our callings. Trust, individual responsibility, expectations, and freedom were cornerstones of our society’s success. The Elders were nothing more than the eldest seven at each of the Academies; they weren’t elected or lauded for anything except still being alive. A combined board made up of Elders from all of the Academies handed down the sanctions, based on the Guide, but no one traced even the movements of apprentices without reason.
But if I was really going to use my brother’s old cuff to travel alone to ancient Alexandria, I had to hope that was the truth. The Historians had no idea that I had the cuff, and no reason to suspect I would travel alone. Unless I had supremely terrible luck and someone decided to idly touch my dot the way I had Oz’s yesterday, no one would miss me. As long as my absence went unnoticed there would be no harm and no foul. Just a peek and then back to the Academy, easy peasy.
I rose before Analeigh and Sarah, my stomach a snarl of worry and excitement. Our suite was big, and we each had a room that held a bed and two dressers. The common room had the sitting area where we’d held the study session the other night, a picture tube for news reports and movies, a couch, and three desks. Knickknacks and the occasional physical book, salvaged for sentimentality’s sake, cluttered the rooms’ shelves.
The Originals had allowed people to bring up to five paper volumes apiece for the journey to Genesis. I had a copy of my grandfather’s favorite book—On the Road—and my mother’s tattered, coverless copy of Pride and Prejudice. My father owned two books about physics, and Jonah had taken our family’s copy of Romeo and Juliet with him when he left.
I slipped out of my standard sleep shorts and long-sleeved top and into the black uniform that molded to and warmed my morning-cold skin. Running water would wake Analeigh—the lightest sleeper in the System, probably—so I didn’t brush my teeth or wash my face, just stuffed my long dark hair into a ponytail, slapped on my glasses, and left the room barefoot.
The hallway floors transferred a chill to the soles of my feet but I ignored it, wanting my privacy. There were two necessary stops before Egypt, and only a few hours before my friends woke and started wondering about my disappearing act. First, I needed to review Caesarion’s timeline and store the info in the password file in my tat. Second, the Research holos would help me figure out a proper wardrobe—I couldn’t go to ancient Egypt in this getup.
It took me less than five minutes in the Archives to download the sliver of information related to Caesarion. I wanted to meet him when we were about the same age. But getting to Egypt at the right time—before he died, but not long before—would be tricky. The facts were vague, but it helped that he’d died the same year as his mother. Her death I could find, and if the historical outline in the Archives held true, Caesarion left Alexandria around then. The date of her murder seemed like the best place to find him.
If he hadn’t left the city yet, he would be at the palace, and missing that would be hard.
With plan in place to get in and out as quickly as possible, I headed down the cold halls in my bare feet, slipping into the Research Lab. I had to swipe my wrist tattoo to open each door, but as with everything else, the information was stored but not monitored. As long as I didn’t give anyone a reason to be suspicious, all of my actions would disappear among the hundreds of other wrist swipes today.
The fashion holo pulled sizes and color preferences from my stored bio stats, styling me in a cream-colored linen dress that reached my feet. Black and teal scarves fell off my shoulders and ringed my waist, and heavy turquoise and gold jewelry adorned my neck and wrists. It wanted my hair darker, almost black, but there wasn’t time to dye it. I hated itchy wigs; my dark brown would have to do. Way to go, Israeli heritage. The leather sandals it chose were softer, more comfortable than the shoes I’d worn in Rome. Black makeup smudged my eyelids and trailed underneath, making me look like a sort of attractive raccoon.
The jewelry, scarves, and makeup were added because I’d entered “elite” into the social strata column. Cleopatra and her family had wealth beyond imagining, and no one without status would be able to get near them, except the servants. I could have easily slipped into the palace as a slave, and perhaps it would have been the smarter call and simpler to blend in, but at the last moment, I knew I didn’t want to go unseen.
If Caesarion looked up, if our eyes met, I wanted him to notice me. Just for a moment, to glimpse the look in his eyes when he felt our connection. A boy like him would never notice a servant girl.