by Alex White
“Yeah, but that’s why you think I’m so sexy. It, uh, doesn’t look like you’ve got any damage.”
“You can’t know that for sure. These people lived out here alone, with little help from the rest of civilization. A place this big has to have a compounder, maybe even a regen system. See if you can find it.”
“Roger that.”
He rooted around for a while, moving debris this way and that. She winced every time she heard the faint tinkle of a data cube being kicked out of the way. Who knew what those crystals contained?
“I’m going to have to head upstairs into one of the other houses,” he said. “No first aid down here.”
“Okay,” said Boots. “Just, like … be more careful, okay? There could be more traps.”
“I’ll be sure to scream if something kills me.”
Then he raced away and left Boots alone with the corpses. Her eyes pulsed in time with the blood in her heart, and she bit her lip to distract herself from the pain. It was a relief when she heard Didier coming down the stairs, shaking a bottle.
“It’s not as good as what Malik would cook up,” said Didier, “but the compounder recommended this spray. Said it should get your sight back in eight to twelve hours. It also gave me these bandages to put over your eyes.”
“Great.”
“It also said you should take these pills.”
“For what? Pain?”
“Yeah. You’re not going to like this.”
She scoffed. “I’m not getting doped up in an underground death trap. I can take the pills after we’re out of this. Maybe I should just do the spray later, for that matter.”
“No dice, Boots. Compudoc says you’ve got to do it now.”
She forced her eyes open with a grimace. “Fine. Show me what you’ve got, then.”
When he sprayed the solution into her burning eyes, it was like boiling, salty acid. Her pain went from barely manageable to swooning with nausea in a heartbeat, though Boots kept it together. After a few seconds, the compounder’s anesthetic kicked in, deadening her searing eyeballs until she couldn’t feel anything but cold pressure.
“See?” She wheezed, scrunching her eyes tight. “Not so bad …”
“Totally. I, uh, was wondering if I’d sprayed any in there at all. You were so … stoic.”
“Good. Bandage me up and let’s get what we came for.”
Didier sucked his teeth. “Compounder says I need to do another pass.”
“It’s fine,” she grunted. “My eyes are already colder than an open airlock. I’m not going to feel it.”
She was wrong. Somehow, the second time was far worse, but she didn’t remember the specifics, because she found herself hyperventilating on the ground. Didier kept any jokes or comments to himself as he propped her up, gingerly leaned her head forward, and wrapped bandages across the bridge of her nose.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear as he tied the gauze behind her head.
“Don’t worry about it. Can you hook up Kin without me?” She handed over her satchel.
“I can find some wiring harnesses for him, but I doubt we’ll get anything.”
Boots’s burning eyes had evolved into a runny nose, and she wiped it unceremoniously on her sleeve. “Do it for me? Kin isn’t an ordinary cube.”
“How so?”
“His cube came from my old Midnight Runner. He’s ex-military. I kind of … stole him when I surrendered.”
“And here Cordell told me you were an honorable soldier,” said Didier. He might’ve been smirking.
“When I turned myself in, I was homeless, jobless, and penniless. Without that AI’s help, I never would’ve made it. Kin can hack most systems if he has enough time, and you don’t mind getting caught.”
“Sounds like a useful guy to have around.”
“He ain’t a bad conversationalist, either.”
“All right,” said Didier. “You take it easy. I’ll get on console.”
A few minutes passed, timed only by the clink of wiring harnesses against her computer. Whatever Didier was doing, he was terrible at it. Eventually the rustling turned to swearing, then relieved laughter.
“Powering him up now,” said the cook.
“Hello, Lizzie,” came Kin’s voice. “Now, this is an interesting place you’ve brought me.”
“Can you access their network?” she called. “I want to know what they were trying to hide.”
“Absolutely. This could take a few minutes.”
Didier crunched back through the debris and sat down next to her. “You doing okay?”
“I’m better now,” she sighed. “Just happy to have Kin up and running.”
Didier’s hand fell on her back, massaging her neck. “If we find anything out here, it’ll be big.”
“I’ve found something,” said Kin, “and you’re right. It’s big.”
“Play it,” said Boots.
I wonder if that’s you, Elizabeth, listening to my ghost.
I wish I could hear your voice, see your face.
My name is Marie.
Have you ever seen a god? I killed one tonight … Jean Prejean. I sank a pen into his eye and twisted until he stopped shaking. Like the other women here, I’m happily widowed to the corpse at my feet.
Ten years ago, I’d never have imagined this day. Jean was too dangerous, had me believing he was all-powerful. I’d tried before, and he shrugged me off like rainwater off his back—not that any of us had seen rainwater in a decade.
When we served together aboard the Harrow, I fell in love with him. He warned me about the mutiny mere minutes before it happened. I never should have put on that rebreather. I wish I’d died with the rest of them, coughing out our lungs onto the floor in so many raw hunks.
What we did with that ship; oh god, I can’t even say it aloud after all this time. Jean used it, used us, and then kept us young for so many years.
Jean transformed. He could see his enemies days or even weeks in advance of their next move. He had time to prepare, then he could show up and butcher them at his leisure.
It seemed he had no weakness, but I knew better.
He suffered from a profound nearsightedness: when one faction hatched a plot against him, he couldn’t see the others who longed for his downfall. And no one longed for his downfall more than me.
He had a prophecy about you, Elizabeth—that you would bring the Harrow to light and ruin his greatest plans. He started talking about you day and night, and I took notice. He called you “Boots” in conversation, like you were friends. Though he wouldn’t share his plans with me, he said you would unravel everything.
Thanks to you, I could murder him. I drove that pen so far into his eye socket that the nib broke against the inside of his skull.
There are other pictures inside these cubes, other angles of the ship about to jump. I didn’t want to send you everything, didn’t want to share it all; if you knew I was telling the truth, you might have been scared away. No sane person would ever get involved.
Jean said you would delve the umbra and destroy everything. Do it.
He had a dead man’s switch. Henrick and the others know what I’ve done. They’re coming for my sisters and me. There’s no point in running. I want to spend my last days with my family.
Time to sign off.
I’m so sorry.
“Cut it off, Kin,” said Boots, and a chime signaled, followed by a wake of silence.
“I don’t mean to talk out of turn here,” Didier began, “but that’s some serious heat right there. Did she say what I think she said?”
“Can’t be. There hasn’t been an oracle since the days of Origin. And honestly, I doubt those stories are true. No one has enough magic talent to see the future. It’s just not possible.”
“That you know of. What else could this be?”
If she hadn’t had bandages over her eyes, she’d have glared at him. There were a hundred other things this could be, chief among them: a set
up. There were hundreds of thousands of people in the galaxy who might know what to do with a photo of the Harrow mid-jump. With a little coaching, even the most boring citizen could be convinced to go on some wild chase after the most legendary ship of modern times.
The power of Jean Prejean, the Great Oracle, hadn’t put that photo in her hands. It had been a conspiracy at best, and the sooner she could figure out who’d benefit, the sooner she could find her angle on the situation.
“Kin,” she said. “Where was that recording buried?”
“That recording existed behind sixteen layers of encryption,” said Kinnard. “In addition, I had to piece it together out of four discrete fragmented crystals. I have also located thirty-two other pictures of the Harrow in mid-jump from other station cameras. I’m storing them to my data banks.”
“Wow. Nice AI,” said Didier.
Boots pushed herself to her feet, her back against the wall. “Like I said: Kin isn’t a normal computer. He can do a lot of things others can’t.”
“See, the oracle knew that,” said Didier. “He knew you’d have something like Kin to help you find the Harrow. That’s why he was afraid of you.”
“This is so obviously a setup. There are no oracles, no matter how hard you try to make the pieces fit.”
“Or you simply don’t want to believe what’s in front of your eyes.”
“I can’t see anything right now.”
“Your metaphorical eyes.”
She shook her head. “Why are the cute ones always so dumb?”
Chapter Eleven
Hairpin
When the police transport settled onto the mossy gardens of Duke Thiollier’s palace, Nilah could do little else except blink.
The past few hours had been tumultuous, if not horrifying. She’d been shuffled from cell to cell, separated from Orna and Malik, never told where she was going or allowed contact with the outside world. The prisons of Carré were essentially caves and contained no windows of any kind. She’d been detained for hours with little contact, and every time the door opened, Nilah felt sure she’d find Mother on the other side, waiting to cave in her skull.
She’d seen glimpses of the darkest sides of Carré in that prison complex: starving people, beaten people, broken people. In the few short hours trapped there, she stopped fearing extradition to Gantry Station and started fearing they’d leave her there. Nilah tried to push away the fresh memory of a Carrétan prison, but it caught in her mind like a splinter.
The transport’s doors opened, and rich, botanical scents filled Nilah’s nose: bloody orchids, regal ganpho, and the wet, honey scent of the treasured nduwayo. Squinting, she crawled out of the back to be helped down by a pair of guards. They removed her handcuffs, gave a curt bow, and filed back into the boxy black cruiser. Nilah shielded her eyes from the thruster wash as the craft blasted off and disappeared behind a rocky peak.
She adjusted to the sunlight, and the garden’s commanding view startled her. Stark granite peaks rose from the mist as far as the eye could see, each one dotted with the lights of distant palatial shields: blue spheres that collected near their apexes like dew on blades of grass. She’d been to the duke’s palace last year, but that time she’d disembarked from the Lang Autosport luxury team yacht. It’d been nonstop galas and enchantments before and after her arrival, so the duke’s gardens had scarcely held her interest. Now, after the Capricious, the Forgiven Zone, and a Carrétan prison, they seemed impossibly beautiful.
“Nilah Brio!” called a voice behind her. She spun to find Duke Thiollier striding across the wide, open lawn from his palace—a set of azure spires rising into the gray sky. “You don’t look too much the worse for wear.”
“I’m sorry?”
He reached her and brought her in for a kiss on either cheek. Nilah did her best not to recoil from her host’s embrace—she knew she smelled foul and looked worse. In such a state, she’d be too embarrassed to be in the same room as a noble, much less be touched by one. Remembering her manners, she returned the kiss and summoned up her most polite smile.
“Duke Thiollier,” she said.
“Please, Nilah. You know to call me Vayle.”
“Vayle. I take it I have you to thank for my freedom?”
The nobleman gave her a flirtatious smirk. He had a body sleeker than any starship and a reputation for being twice as fast. Nilah couldn’t help but catch her breath at the sight of him—the product of the best surgeries and spells money could buy.
“Who says you’re free? Maybe I just wanted to see you myself before they cart you off to Gantry Station.”
Her heart thudded. She hoped he was joking. “One last autograph session on Carré, then?”
He regarded her with eyes like clear skies. “I’m sorry. That was in poor taste. I know you didn’t murder Clowe.”
Perhaps it was the sudden turn in the conversation, or perhaps it was the horrific day she’d had; maybe she just wanted someone to tell her she was innocent, but it took everything Nilah had to stifle tears. “And why’s that?” she asked, holding her voice steady.
“Because you’re the best driver alive today, and you wouldn’t stoop so low.” He crooked his elbow, offering her an escort. “So says Kristof Kater, and I couldn’t agree more. I was surprised when he vouched for you.”
“Me too.”
“I’ll always believe a compliment from a bitter rival.”
Nilah smiled. “We weren’t always so venomous, you know.”
Vayle smirked. “Of course I know. I’m your biggest fan.”
“So, um … Orna Sokol and Malik Jan … are they all right?”
The duke pointed to the tallest of his towers. “Malik has already arrived. He’s inside, in the bathhouse, where you’ll join us soon enough.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And Orna?”
“The tall woman? I’m still trying to extricate her from the prison. She’s apparently broken a lot of bones—not her own, of course. Two guards and three inmates, at last report. I’ll pay off her reparations, and hopefully we’ll see her before nightfall.”
“Can I ask what you’ll be doing with me then? If you think I’m innocent.”
Vayle scratched his chin. “I think I’ll hire the best legal team in the galaxy; we can challenge this murder nonsense from here. You can stay with me while we sort things out.”
But why? What was he getting out of it? Was he just a superfan with too much money? He might enjoy keeping Nilah around for bragging rights, stranded in his castle during a court case. Maybe he was making an industry play. Vayle held shares in two teams that weren’t Lang; he might want Nilah to consider switching teams next season. Whatever caused his generosity, she hoped it had nothing to do with the Harrow conspiracy.
“What about my other friends—the ones back on the ship?”
“I extended an invitation to them, but alas, Captain Lamarr and his first mate declined. Something about wanting to stay with the ship. Despite that, I’d prefer to know they’re safe, so I put the port on lockdown and rented out the other docks. They’re under my protection, but it would’ve been easier if they’d landed here at the palace.”
“Yes, well,” said Nilah, “you can understand why men like Captain Lamarr operate in the Forgiven Zone.”
The ease with which Vayle spoke of her predicament unnerved Nilah. She couldn’t clean the image of the dead Fixers from her mind. Maybe Vayle was playing her; maybe they’d already gotten to him like they’d gotten to the Fixers, and she was walking into a trap. She glanced back at the cliffside waterfall, tumbling into the endless abyss of the Gray. The police transport had already taken off, and they wouldn’t help her anyway. The only road to freedom wound through the palace, so she had little choice but to play along with whatever the duke had planned. Besides, if he wanted her dead, she’d have had an accident in the prison and been wiped off the face of the universe.
Nilah smiled warmly and took hold of Vayle’s elbow. “I’m in sore need of a bath. If I
can’t be on the grid at Taitu, I’d at least like to watch the race in style.”
Vayle ran his fingers over her knuckles and shook his head. “I can’t believe what you’ve been through, but that’s over now.”
“Though,” Nilah began, remembering where she was. Vayle would have access to technologies no one else did. “Could I use one of the palace’s encrypted comms?”
Nilah’s heart pounded in her throat as she waited in the darkness. Claire materialized in front of her, sitting on a translucent green chair behind the glowing projection of a desk. She was writing something, though Nilah couldn’t see what.
“This needs to be good,” grumbled Claire, not looking up. “We’re on the grid in an hour—”
“I promise,” said Nilah, “it’s good.”
Claire shot upright, her long blond hair falling across her face. “Oh my god, Nilah!”
Though Nilah would never openly admit it, she loved Claire like a mother. The sight of her mentor brought a warmth and weakness like she’d never felt—and an agony in its wake. Claire thought she’d killed Cyril.
The team boss rushed around her desk, as though she could run to Nilah and embrace her, and stopped before the camera.
“How are we, love?” Claire’s voice came soft and low. “Holding up all right?”
“Great,” said Nilah, smiling as she dabbed her eyes with a finger. She wasn’t about to start crying here. “Couldn’t be better, really. Just thought I’d call my boss and let her know I won’t be at work today.”
Claire laughed, her nose turning red. She always did that when she was about to lose her composure: when her husband passed away, when they took the Constructor’s Crown last year, when Nilah lost the Driver’s Crown shortly after to Jin Sung. “I’m sorry … for what I said at the presser. I … they showed me some videos and it looked … exceedingly bad. I didn’t have any time to process.”
Excuses for Claire’s behavior jumped into Nilah’s mind at Claire’s statement. It’s okay. She never thought you could be a murderer. She was just confused and frightened.
Nilah stiffened, fighting the urge to exonerate the team boss just yet. “I didn’t do it.”