Chapter Five

 

Thomas and Zoë reached the takeoff fields an hour later. Zoë’s magnificent fighter ship, the Halcyon, gleamed in the sunlight. Primed and ready for a voyage, it was nearly a hundred feet long, and its armor held the luster and appearance of pure gold. Thomas circled around it, dazzled and feeling tiny by comparison.

“It’s incredible,” he said.

“My dad piloted it in the last war. Armor’s strong enough to withstand most missile attacks. You could sit inside and watch the world crumble around you.” Zoë walked over and pressed a button on the side of the ship, and a hatch folded down. She bounded up the steps, but Thomas hesitated, walking in with more caution.

“And you fly this?” he asked, peering into the ship.

“With a little help.”

A robot rolled into place beside Zoë. It was fashioned mostly of tin, with wiry arms and oversized red eyes.

Thomas stepped back, alarmed.

“Thomas, this is Jack. He’s a Proteus-5000 model.”

“It is a pleasure to serve you, Mr. Huxley,” the ’bot chirped. “I serve as co-pilot to Miss Martínez, perform maintenance, and make any necessary repairs. Miss Martínez, the communications system is now functional.”

“Thank you,” said Zoë.

The robot’s eyes lit up when it spoke, and their shape and color reminded Thomas of a photo he had one seen of bicycle reflectors. The voice seemed human enough, if a bit choppy, but it lacked something Thomas couldn’t quite identify, something that made it almost physically painful for him to hear.

“Come on.” Zoë took Thomas’s hand and pulled him inside the main hallway. “Right here is a storage closet for equipment. To your left is a small kitchen, and if you keep walking, you’ll find four bedrooms. Here’s the lounge.”

He peeked inside and saw a red sofa (nailed to the floor, of course) and a paper-thin TV screen on the opposite wall. “Nice. A bit old-fashioned, but nice. But I thought this was a military ship?”

“It’s been refitted for civilian voyages. Aha. Here we go.” Zoë slipped into the pilot’s cabin. It contained rows of dials and levers, all under three wide screens, which showed a glimpse of the outside world: the sunny sky of mid-day. She pressed a button, and a hologram popped up. “Let’s see. Communication system fixed and operational. Takeoff controls, shields, missiles—”

“Missiles?”

She only grinned and sat down. “Kidding. We can fly it back to London later this week, but I need to stay here as long as possible. Are you sure you don’t need to go back to work right away?”

“Positive,” he said. “I’ve taken the whole week off.”

She sat back in the chair, thinking. “The ship’s got everything we need. Tonight we can move our stuff in here.”

The idea came when they left the hotel earlier that afternoon and a group of reporters and photographers swarmed them, bombarding Zoë with questions about her brother. But Thomas still had concerns. “Uh, I’m not sure I’m comfortable sleeping in a place that could move.”

“Don’t go to California,” she said dryly.

He walked out to explore the kitchen. It was tiny: two counters and a table. His kitchenette in his London flat had more square feet. But the cabinets unlatched easily, and the fridge had hooks to secure food in place. He pulled out a bottled Strawberry Jolama Heartache and went into the lounge to watch the news.

“The Council has appointed Commander Edward Delacroix as temporary leader of the Celestial Federation, as Princess Emily is two years too young to be crowned. They have scheduled an emergency trial for accused assassin Damien Martinez.

“Also, London reporter Thomas Huxley—”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“—is maintaining the innocence of his fiancée’s brother.”

They played a clip of him from that morning. As he watched, Thomas put a hand to his mouth, thinking of his words, expressions, movements. “Wow, you’re right. I am slipping into my American accent.”

“When did you do that interview?” Zoë asked, sitting down.

“This morning, when I was walking back to the hotel. They kind of cornered me.” When he glanced back at the screen, the anchor was speaking again.

“Do you really think he’s innocent?” Zoë asked.

“No. But they haven’t convinced me he’s guilty.”

Zoë crossed her arms. “A man who has never shown any hint of disliking the king suddenly attacks him? They don’t think that’s suspicious?”

Thomas looked away. “What did you say about that album? Censored … for anti-government messages?”

Zoë stood up and grabbed her jacket.

“Wait, where are you going?”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “To see Jamie.”

 

2.

 

The singer sat in his lush, winding garden, strumming an electric guitar that wasn’t plugged into an amp. Zoë followed sound of the tinny notes to the center of the yard, pushed past a sunflower and sat down on a bench across from him.

Jamie looked up at her, his silver sunglasses catching the light, then glanced down to focus on the solo.

“You didn’t answer my calls,” said Zoë.

Still strumming, he said, “I’ve been in police custody all night. They had lots of questions.”

“Everyone does.”

He slipped off the strap and put his guitar down. “We were mad about the album, Zo, but not mad enough to kill anyone.”

“So you don’t think he did it?”

“I honestly don’t know. They’re going to make an example of him, though. Death penalty ... that’s a given.”

She leaned back. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Sure. Perfectly. All my friends are dying around me. Peachy-keen, Zo.”

“I mean,” she said, “I don’t want to lose you too.”

Jamie grabbed the guitar and started playing again. She recognized the opening chords from “Dame de la Pluie,” the band’s first hit. The steady plunk of the tune echoed in her mind, and she felt perturbed. He had composed that song shortly before his first suicide attempt, at the age of nineteen.

“Jamie.”

He looked up. “Yes?”

“Promise me you won’t try anything. That you’ll call me if anything happens.”

“I promise.”

“I can’t lose you. Tell me you’ll go stay with someone. Your parents, maybe. Or come with me and Thomas. We’re staying in the city until things get straightened out.”

“Can’t, love,” he said. “I’m a solitary creature.”

She looked out at the garden: a tessellated patio of stones, then a jungle of sunflowers.

“Please.”

“Don’t worry about me. I have plans. I still have a visitor coming. Don’t know when she’ll be around, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Long story. But I’m working on a new album.” He finished the last chord of the intro, and let it ring out. “You and I will get through this together.”

Zoë sighed and nodded. She wasn’t entirely reassured, but from Jamie, this was the best she would ever get.

 

3.

 

Thomas unpacked his clothes in Zoë’s bedroom on the ship. When he turned to hook a jacket on the back of the door, he saw Ariel standing in front of it.

“Whoa!” he said, stepping back. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“I need to talk.”

“Yes, let’s. What were you doing at the prison?”

“Standard temporal time-slowing. It’s an easy way to appear to freeze time—”

“No, with Damien! You could’ve scared him to death.”

“Would’ve saved him a lot of trouble. But I think he’s innocent.”

“Right. But he told you, with no ambiguity, that he did it. He told the police that he did it, too.”

“When he was arrested, he fought and at first claimed he didn’t have anything to do with it. My guess is he changed his story when he knew the facts were against him. It’s possible he’d be tortured if he didn’t confess, and he would definitely be told as much.”

“Uh-huh. Your temporal shift or whatever was messing with my head again, kiddo. I passed out after you left.”

Ariel opened her copper watch. “You were fine this morning. The device shouldn’t be causing any more problems, beyond momentary vertigo.”

“Well, it did.”

She closed the cover. “Then I’ll go easy from now on. Anyway, I’m really interested in Damien’s case now. Doesn’t sound like he killed the king at all.”

“So break him out, then. You’ve got that pocket watch.”

“Hm. I could, but the world’s seen his face. They’ve been running 24/7 coverage on him in every Federation-run country, and I’m sure they’ve declared it news in countries that are not. He could never go back to a normal life. You’ve been on TV a little bit, and you’ve seen how much people recognize you.”

“So take him to another time.”

“Maybe. But it’s incredibly hard to integrate fully. He couldn’t accept that. The only way is to clear his name. If his name deserves clearing.” Ariel sat down on the bed.

“Kiddo, this really isn’t the time for me to be thinking about this.”

“Right! You seem like a morning person. How’s tomorrow, then?”

Before he could answer, Zoë’s voice sounded from the hall: “Thomas, is that you?”

He turned, and Ariel was gone. He blinked. “Uh ... yeah. I’m just unpacking my things,” he called.

Zoë walked into the room a moment later. “Hm. That’s weird. I thought I heard someone’s voice.”

“Nope. Just me.”

“Oh. So, we’re having dinner with your parents at seven? I’d better get ready.”

“But it’s only four o’clock,” he said, confused.

She smiled and walked back into the hallway.

 

 

Two hours later, Thomas paced in front of the bathroom door.

“Zo, are you ready yet? We need to leave soon.”

The door opened, and Zoë stepped out, looking radiant. Her naturally wavy hair was straightened and pinned up. She wore a yellow sundress and high heels, and clutched a matching handbag. Her blue eyes shone behind eyeliner and mascara.

“You look beautiful,” he said, amazed.

She smiled. “Shall we go, then?”

“Right. I know the way.”

They walked out through the takeoff fields, into the south of the city. Zoë flagged down a flying taxi, and it stopped, opening one of its eagle-wing doors. She slipped inside.

Thomas stared at the car, frozen in place.

“What’s wrong?” she said, leaning out of the car.

“I … don’t do flying cars.”

“It’s the fastest way to get to your house.”

How had he dated her for a year without ever telling her he didn’t ride in flying cars? But he’d asked her to come, and he couldn’t expect her to walk the whole way in heels. He slipped inside and closed his door.

Zoë gave the address to the driver, and the car took off before Thomas could get his seat belt on. The force slammed him back in his seat, and then into the window as the car took a sharp turn. He clicked the belt on and took a breath, trying not to look as the car blasted above the streets and soared into the sky.

“This really is a beautiful city,” said Zoë, glancing down through her window. “Especially from here.”

Thomas felt dizzy. “Yeah.”

“Are you all right?”

“I just … haven’t flown in years. These cars crash too much.”

“You just flew from London on a plane.”

“Planes are different,” he said, looking out the window. “I can’t explain it.”

Flying cars were nearly unheard of in London: luxuries for the very rich, toys for the very daring. Tenokte had been designed to have roads in the sky, and the medium-sized city could handle the traffic. London, despite a bit of modernization, hadn’t changed that much over the years. Perhaps that’s why Thomas liked it so much.

The car soared through the cloudless blue sky, and it touched down on Thomas’s old street, Rosewater Drive, in a little over four minutes. The journalist was grateful to step onto solid ground, and smiled faintly when he saw the house he grew up in.

“I can’t wait to meet your parents,” said Zoë, closing her door. “So you’re father’s a police officer, and your mother is...”

“A pharmacist.”

“Brilliant. Why haven’t we visited them earlier?”

He didn’t answer.

They walked up the cobblestone pathway, and he rang the doorbell. In a few seconds a teenage girl opened the door. “Hey!” she said, hugging Thomas. She smiled. “You must be Zoë. It’s nice to meet you.”

Thomas glanced at his fiancée. “Zoë, this is my sister, Audrey.”

Zoë held out her hand, beaming. “It’s a pleasure.”

Audrey nodded and shook her hand. Her dark hair had been pulled back, and she wore jeans and a brown hoodie, which on her looked like they came off a fashion runway. “Come in,” she said.

They walked inside, and Thomas introduced her to his parents: his mother, Dr. (or Mrs.) Lily Huxley, pretty, light-skinned, with pale blond hair; and his father, Police Commissioner John Huxley, tall and handsome, with a dark complexion and steady gaze.

After a few minutes, Audrey pulled the dinner out of the oven and placed chicken, peas, mashed sweet potatoes, rice, and corn on the table. The family and the young couple sat down in the dining room to enjoy the meal.

“Have you lived in Tenokte your whole life?” Mrs. Huxley asked Zoë, passing a bowl of peas.

“No. I lived in Boston until I was thirteen, then I moved around a lot with my dad. I mostly lived here during high school.”

“That sounds really interesting,” said Mr. Huxley. “Where did you go to college?”

Zoë hesitated, and Thomas broke in: “Zoë went traveling with the band right after school.”

“But I want to go to Stanford,” she added.

That surprised Thomas. Zoë had only briefly mentioned a desire to continue her education, and not with a name in mind. She had dropped out of school at seventeen, when she would have been salutatorian of her class, and never looked back. Or so he thought.

“We chose a date for the wedding,” said Thomas. “July 30th.”

“Next month? Doesn’t that seem a bit soon?” his mother asked.

Audrey looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“You only met a year ago, didn’t you?”

Thomas glanced at Zoë. “We’re both very sure, Mom. We’re definitely ready.”

“I just thought a little more time would be better. Perhaps next May? We could have the reception here. The apple blossoms look lovely then.”

“My birthday’s in May, too,” said Zoë, “but we’ve already made plans ... it would be hard to change now.”

“Mom, let it go,” said Audrey. “They want to get married. Let them do the plans.”

“So, Thomas, who was with you at the hospital earlier today?” Mr. Huxley asked.

Zoë paused, her spoon halfway to her mouth. “You were at the hospital?” she asked her fiancé.

“Yes, well—I heard about the king, so I decided to stop in. Just to see what had happened.”

“You were talking to a girl there,” said Mr. Huxley. “Ariel, I think her name was.”

“Was it? I don’t even remember. She was some sort of investigator.”

“Oh. I thought you knew her. The way she spoke just made it seem like she was familiar with you.”

Zoë was looking at him.

“I only met her today. And I only wanted to know what had happened to the king.”

“Oh. So Zoë, isn’t it your brother who assassinated the king?” Mr. Huxley asked.

No one said a word.

Finally, Zoë said quietly, “He was accused, yes.”

“But he did confess, didn’t he?”

“Zoë didn’t even grow up with her brother,” said Thomas. “And like she said, he—”

“I just think that’s horrible. To kill a young man, in cold blood, and for what? For fame, probably. Aggression is a genetic tendency. It’s carried through families. So is insanity.”

Thomas stood up abruptly. “We’re not listening to this.”

“No,” said Zoë, looking away. “It’s fine.”

“This is ridiculous,” said Audrey. “Zoë is a completely different person from her brother. You can’t judge her based on what he’s accused of.”

“Thank you,” said Thomas. “But—”

“We’re just saying,” said his mother, “there’s a media uproar. Thomas, do you really want to marry someone who’s involved in that?”

Zoë stood up. “You know, Thomas is right. We really should get going.” She rushed out of the room, and Thomas started after her, calling her name.

Audrey was drumming her fingers on the table, not looking at her parents.

“Mom, Dad, if I get married, you’re going to find out by postcard a year later,” she said. “And I’ll be hiding somewhere in Mexico.”

 

4.

 

Zoë silently cried as they walked to the subway. The last of the light began to fade under the horizon, and stars appeared on the still-blue sky.

“I don’t talk to them very much,” Thomas explained. “I got out of the country as soon as I could.”

Zoë kicked at a piece of gravel. “My parents would have never spoken to you like that.”

“I know. Don’t listen to them; they really like you. When my mom heard about the engagement, she called and asked when she could meet you, and when she could expect grandkids.”

For a moment, Zoë didn’t reply. “They look young,” she said finally.

“They are. Married when they were eighteen; I was born a year later.” He looked up at the sky. “My mom and I used to study together when she was in college. I knew most of the periodic table before I could read. Can’t remember much of it now, though…”

Zoë wiped her eyes. “It’s because of the assassination, isn’t it? They hate me because of Damien.”

“No. It doesn’t even matter. By the Flyday, everyone will know he’s innocent.”

Zoë smiled, consoled, but Thomas himself wondered if it were true.