Chapter Fourteen

June 20, 2507

 

Princess Emily Montag glared at the dark-haired lieutenant watching her from the other side of a table. They sat in Kira’s Tenokte office, a white room with a glass window making up an entire wall.

“I made your call yesterday,” said Emily. “What is this all about?”

Kira was staring out the window. “Do you know that there’s a red-haired girl who keeps showing up where she shouldn’t?”

“Sure. The ghost of Dimitri Reynolds’ sister. It’s family legend.”

“What if she isn’t a ghost?”

Emily fell silent.

“She wrote a letter to a musician who didn’t exist five hundred years ago. You don’t find that strange?”

“It’s not a real letter,” said Emily. “It’s fake, of course.”

“Right.” The lieutenant paused. “Well, I found a family for you to stay with. They’ll take care of you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Your highness, right now you’re not safe in Tenokte. There are people who might try to hurt you.”

“But I’m the only one who can lead the Federation.”

“The Council doesn’t agree.”

Emily crossed her arms.

“When you’re eighteen, you can be coronated. But for now, we need you to be out of sight, and safe. I need you to trust me.”

Emily was staring ahead. “Lieutenant, Damien Martínez didn’t try to kill my brother. He wouldn’t.”

“Emily, I know you like their music, but…”

“I saw the killer. I looked up right before the shots and … it wasn’t Damien.”

Kira sat down. “Are you sure? Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“The Council didn’t want to hear it. They all thought I must have been confused.”

“Emily, you did see something awful. It happened so quickly, and to your brother—”

“That’s just it,” she snapped. “If you saw someone pick up a gun and kill someone you loved, wouldn’t that be burned into your mind? Wouldn’t you always remember that?”

Kira paused. “Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

“Yes.”

The lieutenant stood. “I will contact the Council and tell them what you’ve seen. And in the meantime, I’ll arrange for transportation for you.”

“No,” said Emily, eyes wide. “You can’t leave me.”

“Princess, the person I’m leaving you with would not allow any harm to come to you. I would bet my life on it. Wait here. I’ll come back for you in ten minutes.”

Emily still was not consoled, but Lt. Kira Watson stood and walked out the door. When she closed it, Kira turned and saw Commander Delacroix standing in the hallway.

“How’d it go?”

“She’s convinced,” said Kira. “I’m having her taken to her guardian right away.”

“Good work. Who did you choose?”

“John Caxton. He’s my most trusted assistant.”

The Commander nodded. Kira had been his protégé since she graduated military school, and hadn’t ever disappointed him. “Very well. Carry on, Lieutenant,” he said, and walked away.

Kira clutched a file to her chest, then turned and walked down the hall. She slid a card through a slot in the wall and two panels opened, revealing another passageway.

After a moment she walked toward an interrogation room, the windows of which were half-hidden by slatted blinds. Inside the room, a journalist was handcuffed to a chair, expressionless. A uniformed officer spoke to him in a low voice. When the officer saw her, he excused himself and walked out, carefully closing the door behind him.

“Anything?” Kira asked.

“He says he doesn’t know where the girl is,” John Caxton replied.

“Do you believe that?”

“No. But it’s been a day and a half. Anyone else, I’d press on with, but him ... if he hasn’t said anything by now, he never will.”

“Will the Commander be convinced?”

“Yes. He left his release to your order.”

Kira stared through the glass. “Do you really think time travel exists, Caxton?”

“Yes. But I don’t think it matters.”

Her gaze didn’t leave the windows. “All these years, and he hasn’t changed. Caxton, can you follow my instructions, even if they go against Delacroix’s?”

“Captain? I’m in your squad. As long as no harm comes to the princess, I’ll do anything you say.”

Kira pondered that for a moment. She turned the knob and walked into the room, then sat down across from Thomas Huxley. Caxton stood at her side. The prisoner’s hair was tousled, and his eyes were tired. He followed the two Celestials’ movements but could not quite focus on them.

“Morning, Thomas,” she said, flipping through a folder. “I heard you haven’t been cooperating.”

He looked up at her, and didn’t reply.

“All we want is some information about this girl. Who is she? Where is she from?”

“I don’t know.”

Kira sat back and glanced at Caxton. “Well, if you won’t tell us anything, you might as well make yourself useful.” A white med kit sat on the table, and Kira opened it. “I suppose you know by now that you were a member of the secret police?”

“Yes,” said Thomas, his eyes narrowing.

“There’s only two ways a spy can leave the force,” she said, snapping on a pair of nitrile gloves. “Death, no matter the cause, is a rather obvious reason. The second is a bit more tricky. The agent must ask for dismissal—because of illness or injury, for instance—and be granted it. Thomas, you have met neither of those conditions. Considering, therefore, your standing as an agent, you are being released. You won’t be charged with any crime.”

“Right,” he said, glancing at the med-kit, but it was just a white blur to him. He hadn’t brought his contact-lens solution to the party, and therefore didn’t have it when he was arrested, so when he took his lenses out to sleep he had to have them thrown away. “What are you doing?”

“We could call upon you at any time to ask you to carry out a mission,” Caxton explained. “And we have one in mind.”

“Kira, Damien isn’t your assassin,” said Thomas. “It’s a man named Jude Fawkes, born—”

Kira pulled a syringe out of the kit and held it level with the table. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Caxton grabbed him and put a hand over his mouth, and she slid the needle into Thomas’s arm. The prisoner tried to fight, but she pulled it out within seconds.

They let him go. He sat back, dazed.

“Just let me talk to Zoë,” he murmured. “I just wanted ... to tell her...”

He saw Kira and Caxton peering at him, then the chemicals took over, plunging him into a dreamless sleep.

 

2.

 

Zoë knocked on the door, then put her hands in her pockets. She stood on the steps in front of a well-kept house in a middle-class neighborhood. After a moment she raised a hand to knock again, but the inner door pulled open, and a woman in her forties stepped in front of the screen.

“Can I help—” said Mrs. Huxley, and then, recognizing the girl, put a hand to her mouth. “Come in, come in.” She held open the door, and Zoë stepped inside. “Make yourself at home. My husband’s at work, and Audrey’s at school—”

“I was hoping I could just talk to you,” said Zoë.

Mrs. Huxley nodded. “I’m so sorry, Zoë. They’re saying now that Damien might not have been the shooter.”

“Thomas thinks that.”

The woman nodded. “Sit down, please.” She walked into the kitchen to pour a cup of tea, and returned a moment later as Zoë sat on the couch. She handed her the mug.

“So you’re twenty-three? And a pilot,” said Mrs. Huxley, sitting down. “This must be a hard time for you.”

Zoë nodded. “I have to leave,” she said. “Thomas and I sort of had a falling-out, and I can’t find him. If you see him, could you tell him to call me?”

“Of course.” She reached out a hand. “If there’s anything else I can do, please, let me know.”

“There is one thing—” Zoë shook her head. “But I need to talk to Thomas first. Thank you, Mrs. Huxley. I should go.” She stood.

“Zoë, I don’t know you very well, but your parents made quite a splash. Your father was well-liked in Tenokte, even if he stayed here only briefly during his diplomatic work. I attended his funeral.”

She was taken aback. “I didn’t know.”

They sat down and talked for a few minutes, about their families, about everything they could think of. Zoë asked what Thomas was like as a child, and his mother showed her baby pictures. Zoë was amazed.

“Your mother was a prolific artist,” said Mrs. Huxley, rising. “Come see.” She led her into the hallway, where three framed paintings rested on the wall. The middle one, of a tugboat at sea, had a tiny signature at the bottom: Valerie Deschaine.

“I’ve never even seen this before,” said Zoë, gazing at it. “It’s beautiful.”

“My husband bought it years ago. It’s kind of like fate, don’t you think? You can have it, if you like.”

“I couldn’t. Just keep it here, so I can see it when I visit.”

Mrs. Huxley nodded. “You know, Thomas has always had the highest standards, and he thinks the world of you. You must really be something.”

Zoë stared at the picture of a tugboat lost at sea, and gave a sad smile. She wondered if she would ever see him again.

Her phone buzzed: an incoming call. She apologized and excused herself to answer it. Milton Apollo’s number. “Hello?”

“Zoë? It’s Apollo. They … they’re about to make the decision.”

 

3.

 

Milton Apollo walked with Zoë through the hallway of the courthouse.

“He wouldn’t plead not guilty. The best I could do was ask for a life sentence.”

“Did you get it?”

“Uh…”

Zoë sighed. “What about the forced confession? The lack of evidence?”

“It was a kangaroo court, Zo. Unanimous vote, 6-0, in favor of the death penalty. There was nothing I could do.”

“That’s it? All this, and you’re going to give up? The tape—?”

“They didn’t even look at the tape, and won’t permit an appeal. It’s over.” He stopped, standing at the doors of the courthouse. Outside were dozens of reporters and photographers.

“There’s got to be something you can do,” she said.

He looked up at her. “I’m sorry.” A pause. “Where’s that cute boyfriend of yours?”

“We got in a fight.”

Apollo seemed taken aback. “Because of what I said?”

“No. Because of a lot of things.”

“I see.” He looked down, shaking his head. “You should reconsider that, my dear. I mean … the way things are going. No one else is going to stick with you like he did.” He looked at the doors. “You’re not going to get a bill. And they’re going to, uh, cremate the body, so you don’t have to worry about anything.”

Zoë was silently crying. “I see.”

“He’s headed back to his cell now. They’ll let him talk to the press, and to family. My advice? Visit him now, and don’t leave until you have to.” He picked up his briefcase, then walked through the doors, to a barrage of questions; the door closed, and everything was quiet.

Zoë stood there a moment, then finally asked a guard to escort her out a back door. She took a cab to the prison, leaning her head against the window. It was raining, just like her first day back in Tenokte. She sobbed, overcome with grief.

By the time she reached the prison and walked the long dark path that led to her brother, her makeup was ruined but she still kept her head high.

“Hey, you,” said Damien, from inside his cell.

She looked at him and started to cry.

“Don’t,” said Damien. “Listen, Zo, I’ll be fine. No Huxley?”

She just leaned her head on the bars. “I can’t lose you, not now. Thomas and I …”

“Yes?”

“Me … Thomas … we’re going to have a baby.”

“Really? That’s great! Congrats.”

She wiped her eyes.

“Zo, it’s fine. Really. You’re going to get through this.”

“Tell me you didn’t shoot him,” she said.

“Zoë …”

“I can’t stay for the exe—for what’s going to happen. I just can’t. The whole city’s going to be a mess. I’m going to be a mess.”

“I know. But try not to be.”

“So I guess this is goodbye.”

“Maybe.”

“Damien, tell me you didn’t shoot him. Please.”

“You won’t believe me.”

“Have I ever?”

“They won’t believe me.”

“They never did.”

“I didn’t shoot him,” he replied.

Zoë cried even more.

 

 

That morning, she flew out of the airport, headed for Paris.

She stepped out of the pilot’s cabin for a moment and walked into a hallway of her ship, then heard a noise in the kitchen; pots and pans falling over. Startled, she walked toward the doorway, and saw two people standing inside: Jamie Parsons, and the girl she remembered as Ariel.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, stepping in the room.

Jamie looked at Ariel, then brushed the snow off his jacket. His sunglasses had a thin coating of ice on them. “Um,” he said, “hey, Zo.”

Zoë stared at both of them.

“You’d better explain,” Ariel said to Jamie.

“I can’t explain. Jude was always the one who explained.” He turned to Zoë. “We kind of slipped into your ship.”

“What? When?”

Ariel checked Jamie’s platinum watch. “About ten seconds ago.”

“That’s ... not possible.”

“We kind of let ourselves in.”

“Uh … how? We’re flying over the Atlantic.”

Ariel turned and looked out the window. She could see a sparkling sea beneath them. “Whoa,” she said.

“Zoë,” said Jamie, “this is my friend Ariel. And ... there’s something we need to tell you.”

 

4.

 

When Thomas awoke, he felt disoriented, as if the world would not stop moving.

“Ah, welcome back,” said Kira.

He squinted, then he grabbed for something, anything, when he realized where he was. He turned to the window, and saw buildings and cars pass them in a sea of blue sky. They were in a flying car.

He sat back, his heart beating madly.

“Relax,” said Kira, from the front-passenger seat. “We sedated you, or we’d never have gotten you inside. We’re just moving over Tenokte, in my personal car. It’s about the only place in the city that isn’t bugged. You already know John Caxton, my faithful assistant.”

“You’ve been out all morning,” said the Celestial agent, who was driving.

“What am I doing here?”

“Well, why don’t you ask her?” said Kira.

Thomas turned and realized someone was sitting next to him. He couldn’t make out the face, but the girl had a pink scarf over her hair.

“Hi, Mr. Huxley,” said the girl, in a sweet voice. “I’m Emily.”

He turned to Kira, his eyes wide.

“The princess was hoping you could transport her to her guardian.”

“What? No, you can’t do this to me. I’m sorry, but you can’t give me this kid who could get assassinated any minute—no offense, your Highness, but—” He paused. “Wait, what? I thought you wanted Ariel.”

“Delacroix does,” said Caxton, “but we’re pulling a coup d’etat.”

“If the Commander finds time travelers, he will have no need for the traditional secret police,” said Kira.

“You made me wait two nights to tell me that?”

“We had to make a show for Delacroix and wait until we could get Emily out. Delacroix knows that someone has her, but not whom.”

“And who’s that going to be?”

Kira only smiled. “We have your things.” She tossed him his cell phone, and pulled out a pair of black plastic-frame glasses. “I don’t know if these will help, but you wore these in college and left them at my apartment one day.”

He took them hesitantly and put them on. The prescription was close enough, at least until he could get his contact lenses. He opened his phone and listened to his messages, oldest to newest.

“Hey, Thomas, it’s Zoë. If you get a chance, please call me back.”

Beep.

“Zo again ... look, I’m sorry for what I said. But I really need to tell you something. Give me a call.”

Beep.

“Thomas, please pick up. We need to talk...”

“It must be really important,” Kira murmured, glancing at Caxton.

Thomas ignored her and listened to the rest of the messages: from Zoë, from his sister, from work. Finally came to his only saved message: “Bonjour, mon ami...”

He snapped his phone shut, as if it had given him an electrical shock. He had re-saved that message roughly every ninety days for four years. Within the next week he would have to save it again ... or if Ariel was right, and he would die, it would disappear.

“That was Madison, right?” said Kira. “It’s been so long.”

He didn’t hear her. Ariel. Where was Ariel? He had told her to leave, but she always came to people when they died. He saw that in her mind. And if anything, he needed her now. And he wanted Zoë, too ... he had a feeling he knew what she wanted to tell him.

“I need to find my fiancée,” he told Kira, as the car twisted and turned. “Where is she?”

“Probably in her ship. She’s flying out of the country.”

“What? I need to see her now. You have no idea how important this is.”

“Then call her,” said Kira.

He turned his phone over in his hands. “I can’t involve her in this. Where do you want me to take Emily, anyway? My job is to report news, not conduct secret operations, espionage—”

“It’s only one trip. I gave you a full pardon to get you out of that facility. And if you do this for me, I’ll tell you what happened on the morning when you were shot.”

He glanced over at Emily, then back to the lieutenant. “This is going to get me killed. Why are you going against Delacroix? You’re his protégé. He’s guided you your entire career.”

“Yes,” said Kira, “but I feel he might try to harm the princess. There has been some cover-up involved in Damien’s case. In my opinion, the Commander is no longer fit to rule.”

“So why me? Why not any other agent?”

“No one will suspect you,” said Caxton, glancing at him from the rear-view mirror. “It’s been four years since your last assignment. And you already know Emily’s selected guardian.”

“You kept me in the dark for four years for this? To call me up when no one else will do?”

“No. I wanted to protect you,” said Kira.

“Then let me see Zoë.”

“Call her,” said Kira. “She’ll only come for you.”

Thomas looked from her to Caxton. “Right. And you need her … why?”

Kira adjusted the rearview mirror. “It turns out that the princess does have relatives, though not descended from Dimitri Reynolds. Related by marriage, through her grandmother, Reinette. The late queen had one brother, Remy Deschaine, who had a daughter, Valerie. Valerie’s two children are still alive. By tomorrow morning, one won’t be.”

Thomas turned to Emily. “Zoë’s your cousin? Wait, Damien’s your cousin. How come—how come no one knew that?”

“They’re not descended from Dimitri Reynolds, so they’re not considered to be part of the royal family.” Emily shrugged. “They brought it up in the hearings. It’s been mentioned a lot in the news. I take it you haven’t been watching much?”

Thomas sat back. No, he hadn’t. Not with his fiancée controlling the remote. But still…

“This is treason,” he mused, to Kira. “If you’re caught, you’ll be executed.”

“Only if you fail,” Kira said smoothly, “and I would bet my life on you. Come to think of it, I have ...”

Thomas dialed the number. “I don’t owe you anything, you know. And you won’t get at Ariel through me. I’m just going to call Zoë. No promises.”

“Agreed,” said Kira.

He put the phone to his ear, then waited for her to pick up.

 

5.

 

Zoë thought she knew a lot about the world, but that changed when two time travelers showed up in her ship’s kitchen.

“How did you get here?” she asked. “Did you sneak on before I took off?”

Jack, the ship’s robot, rolled in. “They were not here at liftoff,” he said.

“Then what?” She seemed totally bewildered.

“She’s a time traveler,” said Jamie, gesturing to Ariel.

“Oh, don’t even start. Really, this isn’t funny.”

“It’s true,” said Ariel. “I didn’t want to tell you unless I had to.”

Jamie took off his sunglasses and handed them to Zoë. “It was really cold, and it was snowing.”

She looked down at the ice coating the plastic and then handed them back, shaking her head. “You could’ve just put them in the freezer. Please, I don’t need this right now.”

Ariel looked at the kitchen’s clock: 12:30. “Doce y media. Wow. What day is it?”

“A better question is, what are you doing here? You stole my fiancé away, and then—”

“Uh, no. I’m sorry if you thought that, but what day is it?”

“June twentieth,” said Zoë.

Ariel cast a critical eye on Jamie.

“What?”

“I wanted to be here on the nineteenth.”

“I set it for the nineteenth. It’s going wonky.”

“All right. I’m a bit behind, but while I’m here, I might as well stay. Where’s Thomas?”

“You tell me,” Zoë said, surly. “He hasn’t been returning my calls. And will you please tell me what’s going on?”

“I can travel in time, all right? I can reach any day, in any place, in any year. Sort of. That pocket watch Jamie has? It isn’t just for measuring time—it’s for controlling where I am in it. The Celestial Federation found out, and started tracking my device.”

“Then why come here?”

“Because I found someone who I thought could help me. Now Thomas is in serious danger because of it. And—why are you flying over the ocean?”

“I’m going to Paris,” she said. “I’m not staying to watch Damien die.”

“Right. Good. But go back to Tenokte instead, because he won’t die. Trust me.” She slipped on her green sunglasses. “If something happens and I don’t come back, tell Thomas you love him. Just once. That was always your only regret.” She opened the pocket watch, and was gone.

Zoë stepped back, alarmed.

“Class A teleport,” remarked the ’bot. “My programming did not anticipate this. A bit flashy, but effective.”

Zoë turned to Jamie, confused and nearly in tears. Her brother’s execution was a tragedy, but an alteration in the laws of physics was world-breaking. She was starting to doubt her own sanity. “I suppose it’s too late to ask if this is a joke,” she said.

Jamie shook his head. “Impossible. She has no sense of humor.”

 

 

Zoë landed the ship in an airport field in Tenokte, only an hour after she had lifted off. She left the pilot’s cabin to her robot, and walked out.

“You still don’t believe it, do you?” Jamie called, trying to take off his seat belt. It clicked, and he sprang up, chasing after her.

“No, I don’t.” She crossed her arms.

“She vanished. That doesn’t mean anything to you?”

“Just because I can’t think of anything else to explain it, doesn’t mean it’s true.”

Jamie walked through the kitchen, and saw Thomas’s laptop still sitting on the table. He checked his own phone, and saw with some dismay that Damien’s death had been set for the following morning. He slipped the device into his pocket and didn’t mention it.

“So who is she, really?”

“Ariel? Oh ... I can’t even begin to describe her.” He thought of all the times he’d spent with Ariel—ancient memories now. She reminded him of a melody heard long ago, where the words are forgotten but the tune remains.

“A long time ago I traveled with her,” Jamie said finally. “And she was brilliant.”

Zoë poured a mug of coffee, then sipped it. “You make terrible pancakes,” she said.

“Oh, man, that was yesterday morning, wasn’t it?” he said. “I’m out of it. I’ve been on Dimitri Reynolds’ street today.”

She looked at him critically. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“There you go again,” she said. “All right. If you’ve traveled in time, do you know the future?”

“Yes,” he said. “In a way.”

“Does Damien die, then?” She hinged the question with more than a bit of importance, and closely watched for his response.

“I don’t know.” To her disappointed glance, he added: “Time can change.”

A faint ringing sounded, and Zoë pulled out her phone. Who’d be calling now? She looked at the number, and her eyes widened.

Thomas.