“Okay,” Virginia’s saying. “So, we’re both Han Zhi fans, so we should watch one of his vids, right? My favorite’s all cued up.”
It hits Noemi then that Virginia’s not as frivolous as she pretends to be. She’s just talking about what’s simplest and easiest, only for the chance to talk. While she obviously feels close to her fellow Razers, they’re not enough. She needs more.
Esther told Noemi something once, years ago, when Noemi had been irritated by a neighbor who went on and on about her garden, the words bubbling out of her constantly, each sentence hardly connected to the last. Don’t you understand? Esther had said later, so gently Noemi felt ashamed. People only talk like that when they’re lonely.
Virginia may pretend not to think much about her family back home, but there’s a huge hole in the center of her, the empty place where they ought to be.
“Sure.” Noemi smiles, hoping she looks half as kind as Esther did that day. “Let’s watch the vid.”
As the first three-dimensional image begins to take shape around them, though, the colors stop while still a blur. A small message in golden text floats at eye level: MIDNIGHT RIDING ACCOMPLISHED!
“Ludwig,” Virginia whispers in amazement. “You righteous, glorious firework, you.”
“What?” Noemi says. “What did he do?”
“Something very flash.” Beaming at Noemi, Virginia pauses the holo-image and hurries to the door, running on tiptoe so Abel can sleep. But Noemi sees Abel open his eyes partway. He’s not awake, exactly, but on alert. Ready to respond to any change in their situation.
She should feel unnerved by that. On some levels, she does. But Noemi can’t deny that she feels comforted, too.
The door slides open to reveal Ludwig, still wearing the same odd, outdated clothes he had on earlier that day. He grins as he passes something heavy to Virginia, an orange backpack straining at the straps—
The thermomagnetic device. Realization sweeps over Noemi in a dizzying rush. We’ve got it. We’ve got it!
She dashes for the door, ready to embrace them both, but Ludwig quickly raises one finger to his lips. “Sentries,” he whispers. “Can’t let them see you. Okay, first thing in the morning, we’ll do the next level of cybernetics tests, all right?”
“Better believe it.” Virginia grins at him. “And you are captain for all time.”
“That’s me.” Ludwig gives Noemi an oddly shy little wave before walking away. The door slides shut as he goes.
“Let me see.” Noemi unzips the backpack and peers inside. It’s cylindrical in shape, about the same length and width as her arm from elbow to wrist. The twinkly string lights overhead reflect dully on its brushed-copper surface. Its size and appearance don’t hint at its power, but its weight does. She knew it would be heavy, but is caught off guard by the heft of it, staggering back a step before she regains her balance.
“Helps channel power from the core processor—as in, planetary core.” Virginia beams down at the thermomagnetic device the way most people smile at puppies. “But it’s a backup to a backup for a system that’s not even online this time of year. Nobody’s going to miss it.”
“Thank you,” Noemi whispers. “You’ll never know how much this means.”
Virginia leans forward, her red-streaked ponytail slipping over her shoulder. “Any chance you’re going to tell me what it’s for?”
Noemi zips the backpack again. She feels as if she has to shield it from sight, even here when there’s no one else to see. “Nothing that’s going to hurt anyone.”
As she speaks, she glances at Abel, still asleep in his hammock, and wonders if that’s true.
Time is space is time: Humanity learned that from Einstein. You can’t be sure the time spent on one world will match the time you spent on another. Fortunately, thanks to the space-time-folding Gates, the lapses turn out not to be too dramatic—people can travel between worlds and still be more or less in sync—but those small shifts still count.
With the Masada Run approaching fast, being off by even a day could be fatal.
Twenty days, Noemi thinks. When the Damocles ship attacked, we had twenty days until the Masada Run. One day to find the Daedalus, another to get through the Kismet Gate, one on Kismet, one here—is that right? Time will be passing differently on Genesis than it is here. Day and night have become almost meaningless.
She rubs her eyes, covers her face with her hands, and tries to relax. Virginia made her this pallet of blankets and pillows on the floor before turning in; Noemi can hear her snoring lightly from her own makeshift bed across the room. This place is comfortable, she feels reasonably safe, the thermomagnetic device is in her hands, and she’s pushed herself to her limit. By now she ought to have passed out even if she were trying to fight it.
Instead she lies in semidarkness, blanket twisted around her, trying to count the number of days her friends have left—the number of days she has to save her world.
From the corner of her eye, Noemi sees movement. She turns her head in time to watch Abel sit up and get to his feet. His uncanny balance means the hammock hardly even sways.
He crouches by her pallet, looking oddly informal in the athletic shirt and pants Ludwig loaned him, and with his dark blond hair flopping forward into his eyes. Noemi remains lying down. She nods toward the orange backpack beside her makeshift bed. “We got the thermomagnetic device.”
“So my auditory records told me.”
“You listen to everything we say while you’re asleep?”
“Not consciously, but I can replay it upon waking.” He cocks his head, studying her. “If you prefer, I can switch off that functionality.”
Noemi shrugs. It soothes her to know it’s not something Abel is consciously choosing to do. He overhears. That’s all.
“You’ve remained awake longer than is medically advisable. Is there anything I can do to assist you? Do you require painkillers, or—”
“It’s not that. I just can’t stop thinking about everything. How many days have passed since I left Genesis? Genesis days, I mean.”
“Approximately six.”
Noemi nods. She still has fourteen days left. They can afford to repay the Razers for their help so far, then return through the Kismet system. Everyone there will no doubt be on high alert after the Orchid Festival bombing, but she and Abel only have to make it to the other Gate. He alone can steer back through the minefield, so no other ships will pursue. They’ll get back to her system, back to the Genesis Gate, and then—
She looks up at him. His blue eyes meet hers steadily, without the slightest hint of doubt, or hurt. Where she goes, he will follow.
He has no choice.
Is that alone proof that he can’t truly be alive? If he had the level of consciousness a person has—if he had a soul—surely he couldn’t give his life up so easily.
But her prayers for guidance on this subject have so far gone unanswered, like so many other things she’s prayed about.