by Ryan Graudin
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?”
“A velveteen rabbit.”
“Truly? I’ve never seen a rabbit so blue.” The sincerity in Gaius’s voice only sharpened her guilt. This was no time to go planting stories of cerulean wildlife into ancient Roman mythos. Though a velvet blue rabbit paled against everything else her father had seen today. Eliot wondered what he made of all this….
Gaius passed her the box. Eliot opened it, lifting Priya’s letter to see the chip beneath, items as fragile as they were forever. Paper covered with permanent ink. See-through circuits filled with everything Eliot was, everything the crew members of the Invictus wanted to be. Was it enough, to place these in Empra’s hands? With so much on the chip, would future Far bother watching a file called “You Rat You Burn”? Certainly, the name was in their humor set, but the label needed to be more than just funny. It needed to be life—drink of water, breath of air, undeniable.
But what? “Watch Me Now” or “Yield to New Life Course”?
Both were throat-snatchy. Neither felt right.
Her father pulled himself out of the earth, staring at the collection of pale tombs around them. He walked like a man unused to freedom—hesitant at first, then overswift—toward the nearest stone, and placed his palm over its chiseled letters: TU FUI, EGO ERIS.
“Not a dream,” he declared once he found the world solid enough to push back. “Where is Empra?”
The final cry of a contraction answered him. Gaius’s face went sharp at the scream, and when he took off running, Eliot did not stop him. It was good that he hurry….
“Vera?”
YES, ELIOT?
“Program the memory chip’s hologram function to respond exclusively to Farway Gaius McCarthy’s voice. Also, I’d like to relabel ‘You Rat You Burn.’”
VOICE RECOGNITION HAS BEEN REASSIGNED. WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO RELABEL THE FILE?
Eliot stared at the words her father had touched. The poetry of them tugged, their undertow meaning stretching through her. Not déjà vu but a similar feeling: cat paws splayed in sunlight, fireflies clinging to dusk’s edge, a wave’s foam getting caught between your toes, bursting one bubble at a time. Life. As it was, as it would be.
Her skin prickled when she read the phrase again, aloud.
Once the naming was done, Eliot sealed her pocket universe and went to join the others. She found Gram standing behind one of the nearby tombs, trying his best to ignore the fact that Far’s parents were kissing. Kissing being the G-rated term. Their level of PDA was impressive, turning Eliot into the embarrassed teenage daughter she was.
“Good job convincing Empra to leave with you.” Gram nearly leaped from his skin when she sidled next to him. “Sorry! Not much I can do in the way of sloshing here.”
“Suppose not.” The Engineer looked around the tombs, laced with grass that had seen better seasons. The Ab Aeterno’s field was a few corners away, out of sight, within sprinting distance. “I return the felicitations. Heard some trouble through the comm.”
“Nothing Priya and Imogen couldn’t manage.” Speaking of… “I can take this from here. You should get back to the Invictus. Far’s fight is almost over, and you’ll be needed.”
“Five minutes.” Gram paused one step in, half torn. “That’s all you’ve got. Any longer and Far might make his debut on the Ab Aeterno again. We shouldn’t risk the window with this pivot point.”
“I won’t,” she assured him. “I’ve come this far. Go back to Imogen.”
With a nod, Gram left. Eliot pressed the velvet box to her heart and waited while Empra and Gaius exchanged hungry gazes, quiet Latin. Her fingers wove through his curls and his hands stroked her face, thumbs wiping tears that sounded different from the ones on the datastream—sad, yes, but not broken. There was room for a laugh when Empra caught sight of Gaius’s garments.
“Is he wearing bedsheets?” The question, meant for Gram, stalled when Empra found Eliot in his place. “Who are you?”
The velvet box was stronger than it looked, for how Eliot gripped the corners. It was her own flesh that dented, her own thoughts that winced: I’m your daughter from another life. “No one important. I have to take you back to the Ab Aeterno soon, so say your piece.”
“‘From eternity.’” Gaius c
aught on to the ship’s Latin name. “That’s where you must return, yes?”
“Yes. I—I don’t want to leave you, Gaius.”
“You were never meant to stay, Empra of the Elsewhere Skies. That our lives intersected and created something new—” Gaius looked to her swollen belly. “That has blessed me more than I can say.”
Fresh tears spread daylight across Empra’s face. Were they for birth or good-bye, Eliot wondered. Agony made itself known in each, and both were drawing near.
“Tempus venit.” Eliot spoke Latin as she stepped away from the grave, so both her parents could understand. Imogen, too. There was background mumbling as the words were passed along to Priya, and to Far through her.
It’s time.
Empra nodded, her arms twined around Gaius. She leaned forward, kissed him, whispered something only he could hear, listened as he whispered something back. She kissed him again. She let go.
“The world you return to…” Eliot switched to Central’s tongue. “It won’t be the same as the one you left, but you shouldn’t fear. It means the universe didn’t end.”
“End?” Empra flinched. “I hashed things up that much?”
“You won’t, if you jump back to Central as soon as possible.” Eliot pressed the box into her mother’s hands. “This is for your son. Give it to him on his seventeenth birthday—no sooner, no later. His future depends on it.”
Empra didn’t seem to know what to make of the gift or its giver. “My son, you know him?”
“I did.” The tense slipped out, caught both women in the gut. Eliot didn’t try to recover. “Let’s get you back to your ship. The longer you stay, the more you risk.”
At this, her mother accepted the box and walked to the end of the tombs, into the field beyond. Its emptiness shimmered with morning. Strings of dew caught the edge of Empra’s stola as she crossed the grass, turning indigo into darkest night.
Gaius didn’t fight when Eliot grabbed his arm to keep him from following. “Where is she going?”
“You’ll see.”
The center of the field—that was where the Ab Aeterno hid in the open, holo-shield heavens matching the true thing. If Eliot hadn’t watched the datastream, she might’ve jumped when the hatch opened, time machine’s inner workings punching out sky. Burg emerged, beside himself, scooping Empra off her feet with windmill arms and rushing her back to the ship. There was a second of panic—white lab coat, blinking console lights—and then the door shut.
The field was just a field again.
“Eternity.” Gaius knelt to touch the dry grass. His curls wrote haywire lines around him as he looked back at Eliot. “But why did you not join them?”
“Mine is a different route.” Once the Ab Aeterno peeled out of this time, a new world would branch out, and if Eliot crossed the pivot point, she risked dragging the decay with her. If she jumped to the past, she could scan herself to make sure Far’s death had eradicated the countersignature.
Best move fast. Empra’s CTM was due to jump any moment.
“What about me?” Gaius asked. “Where should I go?”
“You’re a free man—” Eliot’s explanation dried up as she stared at the equations on her interface, where digits had gone from steady to soluble. Numbers vanished, and when Eliot looked past them, she found the rest of the world disappearing, too.
Air above and earth below, unbecoming as one. Trees bent from the roots up. Sunlight shuddered. Tombs forgot their own names, and the soil no longer understood its purpose. Eliot’s own shout was stripped from her throat, but at least her hands still worked. The bedsheet-and-floss toga held when she pulled her father close.
It was too early. It was too late.
It was no time at all.
48
EVERY GOOD-BYE
IMOGEN STARED AT THE WIRES IN her hands. Green, purple, emerald, violet, jungle leaves, deep dusk, green…What was another word for green? She couldn’t think of one, which freed her mind to wander to any number of awful things.
Lost memories above and around her—jackets and suits, days evanesced.
Aunt Empra’s love story ending.
Another love story coming to a close: Priya in the next room, watching as Farway died.
As Farway died.
As Farway died.
As Farway die—
Swirling thoughts became a spiral. Imogen cut them short. She looked to the least of the current evils, flat on the floor, frazzled to the eyebrows. “What’s another word for green?”
Agent Ackerman didn’t seem to be in a thesaurus mood. He tried spitting, but the saliva made a sad trail down his lips. His groans had evolved into obscenities, albeit, not very creative ones. “Betch!”
“I am a girl,” Imogen corrected him, wagging the wires. “A girl who likes to name things. This is Electro and this is Cute. They’re both very eager to get reacquainted with you, so I’d lay off the insults if I were you.”
The Bureau agent’s answer consisted mostly of drool. Imogen wondered if she should layer a red attack panda to her threat—Saffron was more apt to do damage anyway. The creature was already stalking the porkpie hat, eyes fastened to its feathers.
Daylight scorched through the common area as the Invictus’s hatch opened. Saffron scattered. Imogen brightened. Gram was here. He’d run with lung-popping speed down the Appian Way to make it so.
“Quick! Tell me a synonym for green.”
Gram shut the hatch, but his smile wasn’t dimmed so easily. “Viridescent.”
“And purple?”
“Violaceous.”
The words sounded too preposterous to belong to a language, much less colors, but Imogen wasn’t one to judge. She loved how Gram had these at the ready, even as he sat down next to her.
“So you got stuck with guard duty?” he asked.
“More of a don’t let the wires touch the floor or we’ll see everyone’s skeleton through their skin duty. Plus, I volunteered.” Imogen’s eyes darted to the infirmary door. Closed by Priya, with mercy. “I don’t see how she can be in there… watching.”
“Far needs someone with him.” Gram reached for the viridescent wire, held it so they could sit closer. Knees touching—Electro in his hand, Cute in hers. “We all do.”
Far’s fight dragged on. The battle was harder without Priya, but easier, too, for the next time the gladiator’s sword found Far’s flesh, the hurt of his wounds belonged to him alone.
Alone.
It wasn’t the way Far wanted to die, but death did not care what its victims wanted. The force clung shadow-close, a fell breath against his neck, waiting, waiting for the final strike. Blood trailed Far’s footsteps as he tried to outrun it, frantic scarlet signature. Despite his injuries, he’d managed to stay a trident’s length away from his opponent, but the crowd was growing bored of the chase. Hisses prickled the air—Get on with it. We’ve a schedule of slaughter to keep. Your death isn’t entertaining anymore. Imaginary voices, real thoughts, growing, swelling, louder, until Far didn’t know why he was still blocking the other gladiator’s blows, still trying to land some of his own.
Death caught every man alone.
“Far! I’m here!” Priya’s voice: solid as ever. “Eliot and Imogen needed help.”
“You’re here?” Far asked, dazed.
“I’m here. I promised I would be.” She’d come back to him, his courage. His heart. “Eliot just left. Your mother and father are saying good-bye to each other.”
Clash, block. Thrust, bleed. Sand in the eyes. Cuts full of grit. Steps began to falter. It went this way for a few more minutes, until Priya passed along the words It’s time and a blow from the other gladiator sent Far’s trident flying. Far’s hands flew up, too—though there was no surrender, just a pause for the crowd’s will to make itself known. Thumbs up, thumbs down. Let him go! or Kill him!
Shouts tangled together. Thumbs turned.
These men were hungry. These men were bored.
Emperor Domitian
rose from his chair, twisted his wrist to please the masses.
“I’m here. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here,” Priya kept saying, until he felt her hand in his, holding tight as he knelt in the sand. “I’m here. I’m here. I love you.”
His opponent placed his sword’s point on the back of Far’s neck. He stared past the crowd, into the sky, and wondered if the Ab Aeterno had left yet.
The clouds quivered. The blue around them began ripping, dripping…
The Fade had found his moment at last.
Hurry up, please.
Tempus venit.
“Far?”
“I love you, too, P,” he whispered. “Meet you at the tea stand.”
The sword fell.
Far’s vitals slowed. This dying dirge pressed against the infirmary walls, ran through Priya in place of her blood. Sixty seconds and there’d be no heart to return to, no death to mourn, for silence was already blooming. Nothingness grew around her, a whole garden of decay fed by med-patch cabinets and fuel rods. When the gold of her BeatBix began to fade, taking every reflection with it, Priya Parekh shut her eyes and waited for the distant dream.
The Amphitheatrum Flavium was caught up in the death of the moment. The defeated gladiator had faced his end with honor. He was a name struck off a lanista’s roster; a life bleeding out on the sand. Most were too mesmerized to see that they, too, were being scratched out of history’s ledger, the clouds above crippling their firmament. The few who caught the sight were reminded of the tales from Pompeii, after the great eruption. But those stories had been filled with ashes and darkness. This sky wasn’t filled with anything.
The Fade fell on Rome’s past and Far’s present, bringing interruptions and ends. It moved as a fog, creeping through windows, winding down roads, consuming all it could. Four stunrods blinked out, their bearers with them. The Invictus dissolved along with every soul inside. A girl on the edge of a field held her father tight.