The Ophelia Prophecy

by Sharon Lynn Fisher

She turned, startled.

  “He doesn’t trust me,” Beck continued, “and he’s protective of you. He’ll keep us both with him. That means we can work together. And his sister will have to fly the other ship.”

  Her eyes darted from him to Banshee’s open entry door. “What is it you want me to do?” she whispered.

  “I gather from what you and the bugman were saying about this ship that it’s intelligent, and that it responds to you.”

  It was easy enough to see where he was going. Take over Banshee. Maybe hold Paxton hostage to get Iris to give up the other ship. But Beck didn’t really understand. What he proposed was a lot more complicated—and a lot riskier—than triggering the ship’s protective impulses. She found it hard to imagine the ship would stand by while she threatened either Paxton or his sister.

  But she needed time to think it through. “I don’t know that it’s possible,” she admitted.

  Beck grinned at her. “Sure it is, love. You brought it here without the captain’s order.” He leaned closer. “This bugman has become attached to you, and that’s putting it politely. You’ve mixed up his thinking, and that’s going to work to our advantage. You can’t afford to be squeamish about using that. Not if you want to go home.”

  * * *

  “Tell me we’re bringing them aboard for genetic testing.” Iris crossed her arms, glaring at Pax. “That’s the only way I won’t think you’ve lost your mind.”

  He blew out a sigh. “Sure. Let’s test them.”

  The fact they, or their parents, had survived the virus that targeted pure DNA was strong evidence they were contaminated.

  “And if they’re clean?” Iris persisted.

  “They go home with us. Of course.” If they were clean, he’d have no choice. It was Granada or Sanctuary. And relocating them to Sanctuary was problematic. He had to assume Asha had been talking to Beck.

  “If they’re transgenic, we leave them here,” Iris said firmly. “Anything else would … create complications.” The statement was unhelpfully vague. And yet absolutely true.

  Pax turned to the window. He watched Asha walking with Beck toward the wall, where the wounded had been assembled. From the back—dressed in his clothes, muddied, and with her tousled cropped hair—she might have been a teenage boy. His thinking would be a lot clearer right now if she were.

  “We’d just be leaving them to die,” he murmured.

  “I need you to explain to me why that has become our problem.”

  He looked at her. “I don’t think you’re any more keen on that idea than I am.” Except for fucking Beck. He can go to the devil.

  Iris flushed and let her gaze drift to the window. He had to think whether he’d ever seen her flush for any reason other than anger. But she didn’t give him time to resolve that.

  “Promise me this is not about that girl,” she said.

  He couldn’t promise her, because it wasn’t true. Asha wanted him to help these people, and it mattered to him what she would think about him going back on his word. More than that, in viewing the whole situation through Asha’s eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to leave them to the wasps. Especially not after what they’d all been through.

  Iris turned to study him, forehead creased in concern.

  “Doesn’t it ever seem to you we’ve drawn some arbitrary lines in this conflict?” he asked her. “If these people are contaminated, they’re not the enemy. They’re just like us. What right do we have to make decisions about how they live?”

  “By that logic those winged monstrosities are just like us.”

  Pax refrained from pointing out that most humans would just as readily categorize her as “winged monstrosity.”

  The wings in question began to vibrate. Her back and shoulders had tensed up because she was frustrated—he recognized it from long experience. Pax knew he overanalyzed. It was his worst failing. He sensed she was about to remind him of this.

  Instead, she said, “It’s not really about the conflict anymore, you know that. It’s about preserving our species and our way of life.”

  Pax laughed, but he wasn’t amused. She was parroting their father.

  “We have no species without them,” he reminded her. “We’re artificial constructs. Without our enemies, we’re not sustainable.”

  “Not true, Pax. Synthetic DNA is—”

  “Untested on that scale. Unreliable and potentially catastrophic.”

  Iris groaned. “You’re starting to sound like those religious idiots. None of this matters right now. The thing I’m most worried about is that girl, and the spell she seems to have cast over you and our ship.” She rose from her seat at the console. “I want her on Nefertiti with me.”

  Good call. But no way.

  “I’m not finished questioning her,” he said. Iris opened her mouth to protest, but Pax stood up and headed out of the cockpit. “I need to keep an eye on her, Iris.”

  “Who’s going to keep an eye on you?” she shouted after him.

  * * *

  Once the wounded had been evaluated and treated, Beck’s prediction came true. Paxton divided the passengers into two groups: Beck’s group was stowed in Banshee’s hold, and Carrick was sent with the second group to Nefertiti.

  As Banshee departed, Asha turned Beck’s words over in her mind. The man was crazy to think he could pull off something like this. And what would happen to Sanctuary if she helped him? Beck seemed to believe the Manti could destroy the city at any time, and they must have some reason for holding back. What if it was discovered someone from Sanctuary had helped to steal two Manti ships? To kidnap the amir’s son and daughter? There’d be no going back from a step like that. Paxton and Iris would have to be held in Sanctuary indefinitely, or the wrath of their father would come down on the city.

  But wasn’t it time they were woken up? Beck’s plans were murky, but he was at least proposing to do something. The longer she spent away from Sanctuary, the more she felt sickened by their complacency. The fact they’d all survived was important, but was it enough? Quiet lives and quiet deaths. Living in a kind of stasis, focused on preserving the past. Unmolested by their enemy because they presented zero threat to them.

  It had begun to seem weak and pointless.

  Yet she hesitated. The choice would commit more than just her, and she wasn’t sure it was right for her to make it. Despite being a councilwoman’s daughter, Asha had no authority or special influence in Sanctuary.

  And she had to consider the two men in question. She didn’t fully trust Beck. And Paxton—despite knowing what she was supposed to feel about him, she didn’t like rewarding his efforts to help Beck’s people by betraying him.

  But remember he’s promised no help for you.

  She was staring out the cockpit window, turning it all over in her mind, when Paxton rose from the console beside her.

  “Banshee,” he said, “monitor the passengers and take control of navigation.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  He glanced down at Asha, seated in the copilot chair. “Come with me.”

  It was a command, no question about that. But the lines of his face had softened since she first boarded the ship, leading her to hope she wasn’t about to be interrogated again. Considering his last round of questioning had been interrupted by the discovery of Nefertiti, this was probably too much to hope for.

  As they left the bridge, her heart knocked against her chest. Unpleasant as the last round of questioning had been, she’d had nothing to hide. This time would be different.

  Banshee’s living space was limited, and a single cabin served as both kitchen and first aid station. Paxton led her there now, directing her to sit at the table while he retrieved the supplies they’d used in treating Beck’s people—a box of pungent salves, and the strange bandages that absorbed into the skin.

  He pulled a chair next to her and leaned in to look at her neck. She flinched and drew back.

  “Take it easy.” He leaned in again, lifting her chin
as Beck had done, and the sudden contact sent a shiver through her. “What made this cut?”

  “The mouthparts,” she said. “The hooks in front, I mean.”

  His eyes shifted to her face. “It must have been close.”

  “Very close.”

  Paxton cleared his throat, and he raised his fingers to her neck. Breath hissed through her teeth as he touched the inflamed skin.

  “I can do this myself,” she protested softly.

  “I don’t doubt it.” But he continued to examine the cut. “It’s not deep, but it already looks infected. Be still for a moment.”

  She froze as he smeared salve into her cut, the distraction of his proximity dulling the pain to a manageable level. She was no longer afraid of the physical threat he represented—it was like that side of him had gone to sleep. Now she was afraid of something else entirely.

  “How did you get away?” he asked, positioning the flesh-colored membrane along her neck.

  “I cut off one of its legs. Like you told me.”

  The corners of his lips curled. “That I would like to have seen.” His barely there smile faded as he continued, “I don’t have to tell you what a big risk you took. You must have been frightened.”

  Finished sealing the bandage, he drew back and looked at her.

  She swallowed. “I thought we’d all die if I didn’t.”

  His eyes flickered back down to the box of medical supplies as he replaced the salve and bandages. “We likely would have.”

  “It spoke to me,” she said. She hadn’t planned to tell him this. But it had been eating at her. And nervousness kept her talking.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “What spoke to you?”

  “The wasp. It had me pinned to the ground. It looked into my face and spoke to me.” She let go of his gaze, shutting out the expression of alarm for a moment so she could remember. “It told me we aren’t stronger or faster or better than them.”

  Paxton sat back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “You’re sure?”

  “It felt like it was in my head.” She remembered the weird echoing quality of its speech. “Actually it felt like a hundred voices in my head. But I didn’t imagine it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “No.”

  “It was going to kill me. It…” She bit her lip, hesitating.

  “Tell me.”

  “It made a joke about it. Said it would sting.”

  Paxton’s eyes widened, and his gaze shifted to the floor as he considered this. “They seemed too animal for that. None of the ones at the abbey spoke, as far as I know.”

  “Could it be they’re not all alike? Maybe only some can speak.”

  He nodded. “It would be more surprising if they were all alike.”

  Paxton continued deep in thought, and she knew something about this revelation disturbed him. It had certainly disturbed her. It was hard to imagine their reasons were the same.

  “I didn’t know mutations that extreme had survived,” she said.

  He laughed dryly. “You should just toss out anything you’ve been told about what is and isn’t possible with regard to transgenics. In the decades before you and I were born, the biohacking community was like the American Wild West. No regulations. No tracking. No controls. We find new kinds of organisms all the time. That’s part of the reason for the Scarab patrols. We can’t afford to overlook some species that might threaten us some day.”

  She knew the garage labs had been careless. That they lacked proper training and equipment. And they’d been so numerous that what regulations had been in place had been completely ineffectual.

  “It seemed strange to me, you fighting them,” she ventured. “I mean, they’re like you.”

  Paxton raised his eyes to her face. “That’s a very human thing to say.”

  Her cheeks flashed hot. But his brittle tone softened as he continued, “I think what you mean is we both have insect DNA. That’s true, but … look at me, Asha.”

  Something about the way he said this made her shake. Her head felt unsteady as she met his gaze.

  “Am I more like you, or like them?” he asked.

  Those eyes of his—with their elfin slant and veined green color very much like those luminous pulses of Banshee’s—were not a good measure. Her gaze flowed over the rest of him.

  “You’re right,” she said. “But we’re enemies too.”

  He studied her a moment. “I know you’ve been taught to hate us. I’m curious whether anyone ever educated you about the reason for the war.”

  They were moving into perilous territory, but anything was better than revisiting the topic of her intentions toward him or his ship.

  “We were taught that you were designed to be aggressive,” she replied, “and that it led you to band together to conquer us.”

  Paxton smiled darkly, but before he could reply she continued, “But my father told me it was because we treated you like animals. That you hated us for that. There’s plenty of Archive material that backs that up.”

  She noted the flicker of surprise. “Well, there’s truth to both stories. Our parents did hate you for how you treated us. But we also believed we were superior. That we could manage things better. In some ways we have. In others I don’t think we’re much different.”

  He grew thoughtful, and it robbed his countenance of its customary severity. She remembered what Beck had said about being squeamish—if she wanted to go home, she couldn’t afford it. But what he had insinuated about Paxton … Was there something beyond those slumbering mating instincts?

  “You have a…” She trailed off, raising her hand until her fingers almost touched a cut along his cheekbone.

  Confusion wrinkled his brow, and then it smoothed with understanding. “It’s not deep.”

  “Could I…?” She reached into the first aid box and lifted out the jar of salve.

  He hesitated, surprised. She expected him to decline. She almost hoped he would. But instead he said, “Thank you.”

  Fingers trembling, she scooped out a small amount of salve. As she touched his cheek he blinked, and she felt a warm fluttering in her abdomen.

  She bent closer, smoothing away the excess with the tips of her fingers. When she finished, their eyes met. She felt his breath against her cheeks. Her heart raced as her gaze slipped down, tracing the curve of his mouth. His lips parted.

  On impulse she leaned in, giving a small sniff, like an animal scenting something. Something flashed in his eyes, and she felt his fingers slide up her arm.

  She sat up, and he did too. She wasn’t sure whether she’d lost her nerve or found it, but she decided to give him one more chance. Just one before she considered helping Beck to betray him.

  “Take me home, Pax,” she breathed. His eyes locked on to hers. It was the first time she’d spoken his name. “Take all of us home. Back to Sanctuary, I mean. We’re no threat to you.”

  “Asha…” He sank back in his chair, frowning deeply.

  “I’m not a spy, or an assassin. Something’s happened to me—some kind of brain injury. Even if I was a spy, how could I hurt you from Sanctuary?” She leaned close again, laying her hand on his arm, and he flinched. “I’m afraid to go to Granada. I want to go home.”

  He watched her with pursed lips and set jaw.

  “Please, Pax. If you don’t care about me, think about the others on board. There are children who’ve lost their parents. Wounded people needing care. What will happen to them?”

  “They can’t go to Sanctuary,” he said flatly.

  “Why not?”

  The pleading, desperate edge to her voice—which was not at all pretended—did nothing to shift the disconcerting, dark resolve that had taken the place of his softer expression.

  “They’re most likely contaminated,” he said. “Some humans survived the plague because they were in protected areas. But most survivors have been found to have some form of nonhuman DNA. Usually insect, sometimes animal.”

  She
stared at him, confused. What he’d said raised so many questions she didn’t know which to ask first.

  “I thought the plague wiped out everyone with animal DNA, along with the pure DNA humans.”

  He gave a grim nod. “Mostly true. A lot of the experimentation with animals came early, before lab regulation. But later animal transgenics had the same required genetic marker that protected the insect transgenics.”

  “So you’re saying Beck’s people are transgenic? Maybe even Manti?”

  “We don’t know yet. Banshee and Nefertiti are equipped for DNA sequencing. All the passengers are being checked en route.”

  “If they are,” she said, finally understanding, “Sanctuary won’t take them.”

  She tried to imagine Beck’s reaction to finding out he was his enemy. She was about to ask what Pax intended to do with them when he said, “You’re right. But it’s not the only reason they can’t go there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sanctuary is uncontaminated. It has to stay that way.”

  His guarded expression caused her heart to thump uneasily. “I still don’t understand.”

  “Manti insect genes are dominant. If we don’t continue to incorporate human DNA, eventually our species will devolve, like the wasps. Until we can perfect synthetic DNA, we need protected organic sources.”

  Protected organic sources. It took her a moment to process the phrase. When she did, the deck of the ship whirled under her. She felt queasy.

  Her whole life she’d been taught that Sanctuary represented hope. A second chance for humanity. Unless she’d misunderstood him, Pax was telling her they were nothing more than an insurance policy for the continuing supremacy of their enemies.

  Her fingers curled under the edge of her seat, squeezing, trying to stop the free fall.

  “What happens—” Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat. “What happens once you have the synthetic DNA you need?”

  “I don’t know. There’s some controversy about that. But I believe we’d be foolish to allow you all to die out.”

  Her body shook from the blast of his revelation. It changed everything—or almost everything. It didn’t change the fact humans had survived, and as long as there were survivors, there was hope. The Manti’s DNA problem might very well be the only reason they had survived.