“Good evening, Miss Martínez,” said Jack, the ship’s repair-bot. “Good evening, Mr. Huxley. Good evening ...” A click. “I’m sorry, what is your name?”
“Emily,” said the girl.
Click. “Good evening, Miss Emily.”
Thomas walked into the ship’s tiny lounge, and heard slow, plodding footsteps on the grated floor. Pacing.
He motioned for Zoë and the princess to stay back, then stepped inside. He pulled out a blaster.
“Jamie?” he called. No response, and the footsteps stopped. He stepped into a hallway, pushed open the door to the kitchen. It creaked open; and he sighed, relieved. Ariel was standing by the stove, illuminated by the light streaming from the kitchen window.
“He’s gone,” she said. “Went back home. I was looking for you. Seems you got out of jail yourself.” She blinked. “This toaster, like, butters toast for you. Can you believe that?”
“Crazy, huh?” He stepped closer. “You okay, kiddo?”
Ariel waved her hand, disinterested. She pulled off her sheathed sword, let it fall to the floor with a thud, and leaned against the counter. “Tenokte, huh? Just another turn of the earth.” And she collapsed.
Thomas rushed to her side. “Ariel! Talk to me. What happened?”
Her eyelids fluttered. “Inevitability.”
Zoë and Emily walked in, and when the pilot saw the girl, her eyes widened. “Thomas?”
Ariel’s skin was pale a moment before, but now it looked flushed, glowing like coals. Thomas picked her up, moving her to the red sofa.
Zoë moved her eyes to her fiancé. “Has she been vaccinated against the falling-sickness?”
“It can’t be that.”
“If she’s from another time, she’d have no immunity to diseases here.”
Thomas sat next to Ariel. “Kiddo, are you okay?” No answer. He smiled bitterly. “I thought I told you not to come back.”
She still didn’t respond. He checked her breathing and pulse: both were there, but her breaths came faintly.
“Kiddo, talk to me. Please.”
“She can’t answer you,” Zoë whispered.
“Ariel! What year is it?” He was nearly shaking with grief.
“It’s 1995, Di,” Ariel murmured.
He sat back and looked up at Zoë for help. She leaned over and put a hand to the girl’s forehead.
“She’s burning with a fever,” Zoë murmured. “Oh, anything but that. There’s no cure.”
“No. I’ll take her to a hospital,” said Thomas. “I’ll—” He glanced down. “They’re looking for her. If one of the Commander’s soldiers recognize her, they’ll lock her up, they’ll…”
Zoë looked down at the sleeping girl for a moment. “That virus is a mutation of an old influenza strain. They had that in Dimitri Reynolds’ time, didn’t they?”
“So you finally believe me?”
“Well ... yeah. Maybe her body is so used to being battered by germs, it won’t even affect her.”
“It’s affecting her now.”
She looked down at Ariel. “She’s really Dimitri’s sister?”
Emily stepped into the room, staying away from the scene. “She’s come because of Richard, hasn’t she?”
Thomas stood and walked over to her. “What do you mean?”
The princess looked down. “Well ... she only comes when somebody dies.”
His mind was whirling. Ariel Midori Reynolds, the great explorer, dying in a starship in the twenty-sixth century? It didn’t seem right.
“It’s not the falling-sickness,” he said. “It can’t be. It—”
A sharp knock made both of them jump. Thomas turned, wary.
Jack wheeled into the room. “A Celestial patrol is at the door.”
“Right.” Thomas walked over, lifted Ariel, and moved her over to the couch in the next room. He turned to Zoë. “I’ll go out and see. Seal the door behind me and prepare for a launch. If it’s Celestials, take off.”
“No. Not without you.”
Another knock, faint against the ship’s armor. He glanced over at Emily, who looked frightened. He turned to Zoë:
“I’ll call when I want you to let me in.”
Zoë followed him into the hallway, opened the door to the pilot’s cabin, and pulled him inside. She closed the door.
“Thomas, if I’ve got this straight, you want me to take Princess Emily Montag to Paris because the government might be planning to assassinate her, and we’ve got a possibly-dying, time-traveling fugitive asleep on our couch.”
“That’s ... pretty much it.”
“Right.” She bit her lip. “So you I take it you really were in the secret police.”
“Yeah, I was.”
She glanced down. “You used to have nightmares. Scream in your sleep, everything. Did you know?”
He thought of his dream of the gunshot, now nearly a week ago. “Yes.”
“I don’t want to see you get killed for this.”
“I won’t.”
“Thomas, everything I said the other night ... I meant it. I don’t know if I want to marry you. But that doesn’t mean I want to see you get hurt.”
“I know. But just trust me.” He pulled her close, kissed her, then dashed out the door while she was still entranced, before she could open her eyes.
“Rascal,” she murmured.
He entered the chamber that would be air-locked when the ship launched, then pressed a code on the panel. Another door closed behind him, then locked.
After a moment, he stepped outside and closed the ship’s main hatch behind him.
The sun had already slipped under the world, making a swirled pattern of dark cerulean clouds. In less than an hour, it would be totally dark. A meteorite cut through the afterglow, burning a pale line into the sky.
Thomas looked down, and saw only Lt. Kira Watson.
“Hey,” she said. “I phoned in a request at the airport. Gave the week’s code word, everything. They won’t search the ship before you go.”
“Right.” He smiled, relieved. “We were worried when we heard the knocks.”
“Sorry, I just wanted to check up on you. Take off a soon as you can. Delacroix noticed Emily’s missing, and he’s ... well, guards will be sent to every ship, and soon they’ll stop even launches I authorize. Hopefully the girl can be in Paris before that happens.”
He stared at her. “How can you protect Zoë and the girl from here?”
“The police there have my instructions. Trust me. I’ve already sent agents—they’ll know how to keep the girl in hiding.”
“And what about Damien?”
“Still slated for death in the morning. Not sure if you want to try to change that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Shift change is such a hectic time at the jail,” she sighed. “If an escape were to happen, it would be then. But if someone could teleport, it wouldn’t be much of a problem anyway, now would it?”
She wore the uniform of a police lieutenant, and had a captain’s authority to control an underground network of agents, but in her eyes, between her long lashes, he saw the girl he had grown up with.
“Damien didn’t really kill the king,” said Thomas.
“The princess thinks he didn’t. I’m not so sure.” She stared at the golden ship as a breeze whipped at her hair and coat. “They need to leave. And I should go. So long, Thomas.” She turned and trudged back through the fields.
Thomas stood there for a minute, pondering, then turned back toward the ship.
3.
“You have to fly out of here,” said Thomas. “Now.”
Zoë sat on the couch, not moving. Emily stood in the kitchen doorway, her arms crossed. She wore a pink T-shirt and jeans, and had red barrettes in her golden hair: not the classic image of a princess, but he would accept it.
Ariel still had not awoken.
Zoë paced. “Are you coming with me?”
“I can’t.”
“Back to her home.”
“She belongs so far away,” Emily murmured. “So long ago.”
Ariel started to stir. “It’s dark,” she whispered, her eyes closed. “No, no, get me out!” She sat up, awake, then glanced around the room.
A pilot, a journalist, a royal teenager, and now a robot were watching her with hesitation.
“Are you all right?” Zoë ventured.
Ariel stood, wobbled, and stretched. “Perfectly.”
“That happens,” Zoë whispered, glancing at Thomas. “When they wake up, they seem fine for a few hours. Then ... ”
“He’s coming after you!” said Ariel, pacing. “I need to stop him. How do you stop an assassin?”
“With deadly force,” piped up the ’bot, his eyes lighting as he spoke.
Thomas blinked, then looked at Zoë. “Who programmed Jack?”
“My dad … I think some of his personality might have rubbed off on him.”
“I see,” said Thomas, quietly.
Ariel wasn’t listening.“I need to save Damien. Only ...” She pulled out the platinum watch. The antique looked a bit tarnished, and its face was cracked. “It’s Jamie’s. And not as reliable as mine. Often goes to the wrong hour ... the wrong day. The lieutenant is going to be tracking it, and maybe Bailey too …”
“Forgive me if you’ve already covered this,” Zoë interrupted, “but if you’re a time traveler, why are you here? Of all the places in history, why stop in this particular place and save one person?”
“It’s complicated,” said Ariel. “Damien’s in trouble because of Jude, my former partner. If I didn’t meddle with time, Damien would be okay.”
“Did this Jude kill Richard?” Emily asked quietly.
Ariel pressed her lips together. Emily deserved the truth. “Yes,” she replied.
Everyone was silent for a moment.
“Then why not go back in time and save the king?” Zoë asked.
“Well ... predestination paradox. I have memories of the king’s death; therefore it already happened, and always will happen. Plus it’s a huge, major event, one that would affect too much if it never happened. On the other hand, I still have a chance to change things for Damien.”
“But you want to break him out of prison?” said Zoë. “A high-security prison? What if that doesn’t work, like you said, and the guards suspect something? They’re armed. They will kill you.”
“To be honest, Miss Martínez, I don’t need your approval,” said Ariel.
The woman turned to Thomas. “You’re not going, are you?”
“I have to.”
A pause. “Would you excuse us for a moment?” said Zoë. She pulled Thomas out of the room and closed the door. She whirled to face him. “Two minutes ago she was unconscious. Now she’s got some wild idea, and you’re going along?”
“That’s exactly why I’m going along. She can’t do this herself. And this could save your brother’s life.”
“But you could die trying to do this. What would I tell our child, when she asks what happened to her father?”
He stared at her. “Tell her that her father died doing what’s right.”
“This isn’t right. It isn’t legal, it isn’t safe.”
“It’s not legal or safe, but it’s right. You’re the one who said all along that Damien was innocent.”
“Yes, I said that. I still think they’re going to pardon him. Just come with me. That way I know you’ll be all right. I might lose Damien, but I don’t want to lose both of you.”
“You have to get Emily to safety.”
“No. I can’t leave without you.”
He smiled. “I’ve got a time machine. If I see danger, I can run away.”
“That’s not like you. And what if it breaks, like she said?”
“Zoë, I’ll come back to you. Nothing’s going to stand in my way.”
He opened the door, but Zoë pulled him back. It creaked open, giving a full view of the ship’s lounge.
“If they find you,” she said, stepping into the lounge, “and you can’t get out—well, you can break through locks, get past security codes, but the guards answer to the Commander, and to him alone. How could you escape? They have blaster-proof helmets, shields, vests—”
Ariel picked up her sheath, and with one swift motion she pulled out her sword. Thomas simply looked at his fiancée and grinned.
It was Emily who decided the matter. “Yep,” she said. “That’d do it.”
Chapter Sixteen
June 20, 2507, 11:55 p.m.
The prison security personnel questioned the reporter’s need for a midnight appointment, but they considered his reasons and relented. Thomas Huxley was the only journalist the prisoner would speak to, and as the execution grew closer, it was better for him to do an interview as soon as possible.
A protest had formed outside the prison, calling for the convicted assassin’s early execution, and it quieted as Thomas passed. He walked into the building, and they resumed their shouts.
The journalist flashed his ID, picked up a pass, and walked with a guard to the maximum-security section. The arrangement had changed since he last visited: Damien Martínez was on death row, and was under full guard.
The prisoner sat locked in Cell 19.
“You’re looking better than last time,” said Damien, from behind the bars.
“So are you.” Thomas grinned, pulled up a chair, and started the interview.
Damien talked candidly about his time with the rock band, and his memories of his family, but he skipped aside questions about the crime. Thomas wrote quick but detailed notes in a paper notebook, a habit he picked up in high school and never shook off.
“Is Zoë in Paris?” the prisoner asked finally.
Thomas faltered. “Leaving for Paris. She wanted to come, but ... the whole week’s been hard for her. People have been hard on her. She had to leave the city.”
Damien sat back. “Will you tell her I didn’t kill the king? Just that.”
“Whoa, is that on the record?”
“Yeah. Put it your notes.”
The guard shifted uncomfortably.
Thomas adjusted his black-framed specs. “Last week, you confessed to this crime.”
“Yeah, but ...” Damien shrugged. He was wearing regulation sea-green prison garb, and his cell was drab, and the dim light cast odd shadows. “They said it would just be easier to confess. They made pretty direct threats against me ... and Zoë.”
Thomas pulled off his specs. “Who did?”
“I would like to remind you that the prisoner would be willing to tell any lies to delay his fate,” said the guard.
“Excuse me?” said Thomas. “Oh, for a second I thought I was interviewing Damien. But I see that you know everything! Who’s in charge of interrogations here?”
“That information is classified.”
“It was the secret police,” said Damien.
Thomas had stopped taking notes. A memory flashed in his head: dim lights, a scream … and he remembered where how had seen this jail, years before.
The secret police had no accountability. If they saw fit to torture or execute someone, they could do it.
“Damien ... they didn’t suspect that you killed the king,” he said. “They knew you were innocent the whole time. They just couldn’t catch the real shooter.”
“A brilliant deduction, Huxley,” came a voice. Commander Edward Delacroix strode toward him, flanked by two guards. He raised his flashlight and shined it at the reporter.
Thomas moved a hand up to shield his eyes.
“Take him.”
He barely had time to open his mouth before the guards shoved him against a wall and clicked handcuffs onto him. He thrashed and fought, but they held him tight. “You can’t do this!” he yelled, before the soldiers pulled him away.
“Sorry for the disturbance,” Commander Delacroix said
to the guard. He turned to the prisoner. “Nothing personal. You’re going to die for your country. Not many people have that honor.”
Damien didn’t say a word, just moved his eyes as the Commander walked away, then the guard. Then he screamed and kicked at the bars, again and again, but the sound only echoed off the walls.
So the plan had failed brilliantly, just minutes into it. Commander Delacroix hadn’t been away; Kira had led him into a trap.
The Commander walked behind the guards, who pulled Thomas along, but stopped when he heard a faint ringing.
“It’s his phone,” said the Commander.
They searched Thomas and found his cell phone, and one of the guards handed it to Delacroix, who pulled it open. “Hello?”
A pause, then a stern female voice: “Where’s Thomas?”
“He can’t answer his phone right now,” said Delacroix, watching Thomas try to pull away. “He’s a bit tied up at the moment. Can I take a message?”
No reply.
“Which one are you? Zoë, the intrepid pilot ... no, this must be the time traveler. Ariel Midori, isn’t it?”
“Let him go.”
“In four minutes he’ll be in Cell 45,” said Delacroix. “I hear you have a time machine. Meet us there.” He closed the phone, then pressed a button for the elevator. The doors slid open.
“At this point I don’t even see the benefit in keeping you alive,” said Delacroix, as the men shoved him in. “Tomorrow the public will wake up to find that Thomas Huxley, beloved journalist, is dead. Brain aneurysm. How sad, but not so unlikely after that accident a few years ago. And after all the stress he and his fiancée went through...”
Thomas’s eyes flashed. The guards shoved him into the elevator.
“Aren’t you a bit overqualified to be murdering reporters?” Thomas snapped. “Go on then, shoot me. Wouldn’t be the first time someone did. Ariel knows what you’re up to, and she’ll stop you.”
Delacroix raised his gun.
Thomas’s heart thudded. He was backed up against the wall.
“Stop!” A brunette in full officer’s dress stood in the hallway. Lt. Kira Watson. “Don’t kill him,” she said, her eyes wide.
The Commander turned, enraged. “Do you make the decisions here, lieutenant?” And as Kira gasped, he aimed the pistol at Thomas, and fired.
Flyday Page 19
