Also, chronology wasn’t how Cortázar had structured his work. Notes and results on the protomolecule-modified telomerases that had been one of the first steps were in the same files as preliminary scans and data on Teresa Duarte. NIR and magnetic scans of Cara and Xan from his initial research had annotations about Duarte’s blood protein structures from as recently as the day before Cortázar died.
There were some advantages. Bouncing back and forth in time, Elvi began to feel the shape not only of Cortázar’s obsession but also of the path he’d gone through. The change. His earliest notes on Teresa had been much like his plan for Duarte with some variations. His decision to instead kill her and give her to the repair drones hadn’t come until fairly recently.
It was almost out of character too. Everything she saw about Cortázar had been about pushing forward, trying things that were new. He was a discoverer at heart, and the choice to pull back and study something foundational more deeply was unlike him.
It was a long time before she figured out who had convinced him to change from his usual strategy.
When she did, she only told Fayez.
“Holden?” her husband said, incredulous. “James Holden put Cortázar up to killing Teresa?”
“I don’t know,” Elvi said. “I think so. Maybe.”
They were getting ready for Teresa’s birthday party. The dress Elvi had ordered up was a yellow that had looked good on the screen, but she wasn’t sure about it now. It was the first time she’d seen Fayez in days. She’d been going to the labs early and leaving them late. Would have done so again if Trejo weren’t insisting on keeping up appearances. Between Duarte’s conspicuous absence and the breaking news that the enemy had gutted a destroyer called the Mammatus, it was a harder and harder job.
“That doesn’t make sense,” he said, but the way he said it meant he believed her. “Why? Why would he do that?”
The note hadn’t been hidden. It was in with Teresa’s medical scans and blood data, as simple and open as a reminder to get fresh socks. Holden’s argument correct? Consider restarting protocol with additional subject. And every note after that, wherever it had been added, assumed that Teresa Duarte began the process already dead. Another note seemed to be a list of talking points for breaking the news to the high consul.
With your life span, she was going to die before you did anyway.
The important thing is that we learn as much as we can from her death sacrifice.
Children die in nature all the time. This is just like that.
But the one she kept returning to was Holden’s argument correct?
“She was . . . is heir to the empire,” Elvi said. “If Cortázar turned her into a lab rat, it might destabilize Laconia. Take away the clear line of succession?”
“That’s an awfully long game,” Fayez said, pulling on his shoes. “It explains how Holden knew. But then why did he warn us?”
“Couldn’t go through with it?” Elvi said. “Holden’s a decent person. Decent people have trouble with murdering children. Second thoughts. Doubts. I don’t know. I don’t understand anything anymore.”
“That’s the thing about alien biologies and transdimensional monsters,” Fayez sighed. “At least they’re not supposed to make sense.”
Elvi sighed in agreement and looked at herself in the mirror. Her leg was healed in that it didn’t hurt, but the gouge the aliens had left in it still showed. A lighter patch of skin with a puckered edge.
“Pass me the cane?” Fayez asked. And then, as she did, “Are you going to tell Trejo about it?”
“I don’t know. I’m not going to keep it from him, but . . . Cortázar’s dead and Holden’s under guard. There’s nothing for Trejo to do about it, and he’s juggling enough already. How do I look? Do I look like a wrapped candy? I feel like I’m dressed up as caramel chocolate.”
“You look beautiful,” Fayez said, rising to his feet. “You always do. Also, that you care at all what any of these people think is charming beyond words.”
“What makes you think I care about what they think?” she said. “I asked you.”
He laughed and stepped close to her. She put her arms around his chest, leaned her head against his shoulder, closed her eyes.
“I hate this,” she whispered. “I hate all of this so much. I’m so tired of being scared and overwhelmed.”
“I know. I’m a little adrenaline-sick myself. Maybe we should leave.”
She chuckled. “Tender my resignation? Say I’m exploring options elsewhere? Maybe go back to teaching.”
“I’m serious,” Fayez said. “You still have command codes for the Falcon, don’t you?”
She pulled back to look him in the eyes. He wasn’t joking. She knew all his smiles, and this was a serious one.
“There are two separate navies out there ready to shoot us down,” she said.
“Maybe. Or maybe we could defect. Or just run and take our chances. It couldn’t be worse. This place is made out of palace intrigue and fear as much as it is concrete. And that’s before it was the target of an ongoing rebellion looking to nuke it to glass. Say you’re going to look for residual transdimensional radioactive ectoplasm or something. They won’t know. With the shooting war going on, they’re not going to come after little old us. We could make a break for it.”
It was crazy, and worse, it was tempting. Elvi imagined waking up under some other sun. In a hut on a mountain on a world without a name.
“You’ve wanted out since you got here,” Fayez said. “You’ve put a brave face on it, and I have too. But this is killing you by centimeters.”
“Let me think,” she said. “I’ll think about it.”
They walked to the ballroom together. For a quincea?era, there weren’t many teenagers. Even as large as the room was, Elvi felt like the air was close, stale, rebreathed. She got a glass of wine, hardly aware of who she’d gotten it from. Pulled by her exhaustion, trying to make sense of Holden, her fear of the fighting in the system, and the beautiful dream of leaving Laconia behind, she was in a fog.
“Is everything all right?”
Teresa Duarte was at her side. Elvi had been aware the girl was speaking, but she hadn’t listened. “Fine. Everything’s fine.”
Teresa smirked. “Well. Except.”
“Yes. Except.”
The dinner chime came, and Elvi tried to move away, but Teresa stayed at her side. The girl was working herself up to something. With a forced casualness, Teresa said, “I was wondering, Dr. Okoye. The Falcon.”
Elvi felt a chill of fear. “What about it?”
“I wondered how the repairs were going. With everything that’s going on . . .” The girl put on a smile that was meant to be calming. Innocuous. “I mean, it is built for sustained high burn. It has breathable liquid crash couches.”
“Those are unpleasant,” Fayez said, trying to move the subject away.
Teresa would not be turned aside. “But still. If the fighting got close? You’d be able to use it to get away?”
Elvi glanced at Fayez. His expression went blank. So he was wondering it too. They’d been in their private rooms, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be monitored. Was Trejo watching them? Was this a test?
“Unfortunately,” Elvi said, choosing her words carefully, “the Falcon was deeply, deeply compromised.”
Fayez followed suit. “I got a new foot, toenails and all, but that ship’s still in pieces.”
Teresa’s expression shifted, but Elvi wasn’t sure what it had shifted into. Elvi kept going, saying the things someone who had never thought of fleeing would say. “I really don’t think it’ll come to evacuation. None of those ships are even going to get close to the planet. And everything Admiral Trejo has at his disposal will be used to keep us all safe.”
“Maybe you should put a push on the repairs, then,” Teresa said, harshly. As if there is anything I would rather do, Elvi thought, and chuckled.
“Maybe I should,” she said as they entered the dining hall. Teresa finally had to go her own way. It felt like escaping something. Fayez put his arm around her waist and let himself be guided to their table.
“That was uncomfortable,” he said.
“Don’t read too much into it,” Elvi said as they found their chairs. “Also? Don’t forget it.”
The dinner proceeded, the conversations stayed on safe ground. Elvi put Holden and his role in Cortázar’s murder plot out of her mind. She didn’t think of it again for weeks, and by then things were already out of control.
“Holden escaped,” Ilich shouted. The speaker on her hand terminal overloaded a little, flattening his voice. She tried to bring herself back to consciousness. It was hard to believe she’d actually drifted off, but the dreams still had their claws in her.
“The attack,” she said.
“They’re here. They’re fighting right now, and Holden’s free.”
She sat up on her bed. She was still wearing her uniform, though it was creased from sleep. She rubbed the back of her neck with an open palm. Holden was out of his cell at the same moment that the underground’s strike force was engaging with the defense grid. There was no way that could be coincidence. Somehow, he’d known it was coming. And he was getting out before the bombs hit the State Building.
Her gut clenched. The fear that had been growing since the enemy’s gambit became clear tightened her gut. I’m going to die. Fayez is going to die. We’re not going to see dawn.