“Hurry,” Imogen urged. “Eliot’s been through enough jumps to scramble an egg inside a hen.”
Purple and green. Priya wasn’t certain about the wires she chose, but this didn’t stop her from yanking them free. The Invictus’s overhead lights cut out, sparks scattering through newfound darkness. She’d gotten at least one of the wires right. The comm system had stayed online, too. Far’s datastream glowed through the infirmary screen, ghastly in new shadows. Priya couldn’t look at it. Her concentration was best served focusing on the wires in each hand, frayed ends far from touching.
Keep fighting, Far.
One more minute. That was all she needed: heart back to heart.
I’m going to save us.
“These wires don’t stretch much,” she told Imogen. “The Bureau agent has to land on this side of the common area.”
The other girl nodded. “Copy that, Eliot? Your order of save-the-day is ready. Come on home.”
The final word wasn’t even cold when Eliot appeared. Sweat streaked her eyebrows. Her eyes had gone from haunted to hunted. She slouched against the couch, ash in her warning: “Five seconds. He’ll be here.”
Priya’s fists tightened around the wires. A flickering in the infirmary called to her, but she could not look. She could not look. Priya wondered if she’d feel it—the moment Far died—or if that was a sentiment created by ancient poets. Souls twined so closely together one could feel when the other was severed….
Agent Ackerman’s materialization made Eliot’s teleports look mystical. Where she slipped, this man slammed, crushing the tricorne hat beneath his feet. His stunrod was pointed at Eliot, and it might’ve landed, had he not been so blindsided by the brightness of Imogen’s hair.
“I have had it with you history-hopping betch—”
Poke. Poke. ZZZZZZAP.
Thud.
One touch and the Bureau agent was grounded. Priya stared at the wires she held, shocked in a different sense. She’d never harmed another person before, had never thought she could, under the unspoken pressure of the Hippocratic oath. Everything was upside down, inside out. At the end of the couch, Eliot doubled over, charred fabric crumbling beneath her nails while she heaved. There was a wet splash of something on the floor panels.
Priya took an extra breath to keep her own sickness down. “Are you okay?”
“Too much—dashing—rearranging!” Eliot explained between gasps. “My—molecules—can handle it. Stomach—not so much.”
“Is he okay?” Imogen nudged Agent Ackerman with her toe. The man was face to floor, pinned by a force heavier than gravity. His hat had tumbled into the rest of the clothes, blending in with forgotten times.
“He seems to be breathing.” Eliot gathered herself enough to pick up the Bureau agent’s stunrod. She flicked it on, then off, white charge leaving a jagged imprint in the air. “Good call on the wires, Priya. You just saved the whole hashing day, and more besides.”
“The files? They’re intact?”
“Locked and loaded.” The eyes that were so like Far’s—and altogether different—blinked. “I’m feeding all of the ship’s current datastream into the chip as we speak, including mine. Anything you want to say?”
Priya’s fists buzzed and shook, no volts involved. What could she voice that hadn’t already been shown? How could she put love into letters, life into words?
“Far, you’re in the arena right now, fighting a really terrifying guy with a sword, because you believed this life is worth dying for. Please, give it a chance. Give us a chance. When we met in this life, I was working shifts in the Corps infirmary. Priya Parekh. Find me. Bring a mug of chai from the tea stand on Via Novus.”
“The files…” If Imogen were an animation, a lightbulb would’ve appeared. “You mean the Invictus’s logs! Clever, clever. Oooh, breaking news! Gram and Aunt Empra have made it to the rendezvous. Her second contraction just started—ah! It’s loud!”
“I should go. I’ll do my best to make sure the chip gets transferred.” Eliot pulled off her wig as she said this, elaborate Roman updo tossed into the pile. “Don’t let him out of your sight, okay?”
“You’ll warn me before the Ab Aeterno leaves?” Far couldn’t live past the time machine’s takeoff, no matter how much Priya wanted him to. “So I can tell Far when it’s time….”
Eliot vanished midnod, her exit just as sudden as her entrance all those days ago, prelude to doomed violins. No songs rose to meet Priya now as she looked toward the infirmary. Somewhere on the other side of this city, Far’s eyes were open, datastream transmitting a sight bright enough to sear through her lab coat. What a fearsome light, calling her, the moth who knew her wings would burn.
Let the flames come.
Let the watch end.
Clear sight or tears, she’d be there to see it.
“Im?”
“Yeah, Priya?”
“Will you hold these wires away from the metal floor?” Priya passed them to her friend one at a time. “I need to say good-bye.”
47
AMONG THE TOMBS
ONE MORE JUMP.
These coordinates—not random—brought Eliot to Rome’s southern outskirts, where buildings yielded to tombs. All along the Appian Way, the dead made themselves known with epitaphs; patricians’ stone likenesses guarding whatever was left of their mortal husks. Trees stretched alongside the stillness, their branches scratching blue, making the sky that much larger. Eliot felt like the only soul beneath it. She wasn’t, of course. The Ab Aeterno lurked behind these tombs; Burg and Doc and Nicholas going frantic within its unseen walls at Empra’s blackout. Empra, who was nearer than they knew, seized by a new contraction Eliot could hear through Gram’s side of the comm.
“You’re doing fine, Ms. McCarthy,” the Engineer coached.
“Ms. McCarthy? Way to make a woman feel old. Where’s Gaius—ah!” A stab of pain, heard not just through electronics, but from the other side of the road.
“He’s coming,” Gram assured her. “He’ll be here.”
Sun glared off Eliot’s bare scalp as she slipped the pocket universe from her wrist. Her exhaustion bordered on sinister: two palms to earth, a few dry heaves, collapse now, rest your bones. The background voices twining through her comm wouldn’t let her: Empra huffing, Priya calling Far’s name, Gram’s encouragements, Imogen apologizing for not being at her station. All of them were connected, close to a turning point, and it was up to Eliot to push them through.
Once the worst of the nausea rolled past, she opened her pocket universe. Her father’s curls were the first thing she saw through the interdimensional slip, followed by brawny arms. He’d been… napping. On a pile of dresses nonetheless. Gaius blinked at the sudden daylight, starting when he saw Eliot haloed in it.
“It’s okay,” she reassured him in Latin. “Could you pass me that box?”
Gaius frowned at the velvet as he grabbed it. “What creature did such fur belong to?”