I stood up. My face was hot. “I want to see her. I want to talk to her.”
“You can see her,” Dad said. “But she’s gonna be too knocked out for you to talk to her.” He shrugged. “Price to pay for a virus that wouldn’t otherwise have a cure.”
I left Dad at the bench and walked back inside. The air in the lobby smelled sanitized. Too clean. For a moment, I just stood there alone. I hadn’t thought about my childhood friends from the village in a long time. This was the last place I’d expected to be reminded of them.
A whoosh as the door swung open; Dad’s footsteps clicked across the lobby floor. “This way,” he told me, and we walked over to the elevator. Dad pressed his palm to the lightscreen, and when the elevator confirmed his identity, the doors slid open and we both stepped inside. The elevator hummed around us.
Then Dad said, “I’m sorry.”
“What?” I jerked my head over at him. He stared straight ahead.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “For not telling you. I just wanted to give Isabel her privacy.”
I trembled. Dad was not the type to apologize. And part of me wanted to know why he was doing this, what angle there could be in it for him. But the rest of me was exhausted with worry and lack of sleep, and that part of me knew that when I saw Isabel lying safe and convalescent in a laboratory bed, I’d actually forgive him.
The elevator dinged. Dad stepped out and I followed. We were in a part of the lab I’d never been before; it looked more like a hospital than a laboratory. A man sat at a desk surrounded by lightscreens. He nodded as we passed.
“One of the nurses,” Dad told me. “There are two, to ensure there’s always someone to watch over her. But so far, her condition has been stable.”
He stopped in front of a closed door, one of a whole line of closed doors. My chest tightened. He pushed it open. Nodded for me to go inside.
I did.
Isabel was there, as Dad had promised. She was asleep, curled up on her side beneath the blankets, a vitals monitor blinking at her temple. I could feel Dad hovering in the doorway, watching us. I walked over to the side of the bed and knelt down and brushed her hair out of her face. Her breathing was deep, steady. But her skin was pale and dark lines traced along the veins of her arms. I ran my finger down one arm, then looked over at Dad.
“Side effect of the surgery,” he said softly. “It’ll fade in a few days.”
I studied Isabel. I wanted to find something wrong with her. Some implant, some sign of illness. Something to show that Dad was lying to me. But there was nothing. She seemed frail, yes, but that would make sense, after recovering from a surgery.
I stood up. My legs trembled as I stumbled out of the room. The lights in the hallway were too bright.
“See?” Dad said. “Safe and sound.”
I leaned against the wall, took a deep breath. Safe and sound. For once, I believed him.
• • •
I wanted to stay in Starspray City until Isabel woke up, but one of the lab doctors told me that it could be as much as a day before she did—“She’s fine, she’s stable, but she needs to sleep off the aftereffects of the surgery,” she told me, sitting in a little office with a view of the storm-swept seas. Isabel’s files floated on the air above the desk, a confusing jumble of medical terminology I only half-understood. “You’re welcome to stay, but I’m sure your work is piling up. I’ll be happy to have Isabel contact you as soon as she wakes.”
I shifted in my seat, thinking back on Flor’s lies. But this doctor wasn’t Flor. I outranked her.
“Your sister’s going to be fine,” the doctor told me.
In the end, I checked on Isabel one more time. I watched her sleep for about half an hour, the climate control in the lab buzzing in the background. And then I went home. Guilt tugged at my chest, but the doctor had been right: my work was piling up, and I knew I could always come back to Catequil if I didn’t get a holo from Isabel within the next day or so.
Star’s End was a contrast to Starspray City, the air hot and bright and still. I felt as if the gravity of the world had changed, like it was easier for me to walk through the garden, my movements as graceful as a dancer’s. I needed to catch up on work, but I wanted to tell Adrienne and Daphne what I’d learned, too. I wondered if Isabel really was as embarrassed by catching Lasely fever as Dad had implied, or if he was the one who was embarrassed, his daughter coming down with a low-class venereal disease. Either way, I wanted to tell the twins. I couldn’t imagine that Isabel would mind.
Alicia told me they were in the plumeria maze, sunning themselves by the center fountain. I hadn’t gone into the plumeria maze since I was a child, but the path came back to me as I followed the twists and turns, spiraling toward the center. It was bright enough that the glow from the genetically engineered flowers was barely visible—a fact I was grateful for, since the maze reminded me of the courtyard at the lab, and reminded me of the conversation with my father.
I found Daphne and Adrienne stretched out side by side in lounging chairs. Adrienne was studying on her lightbox, but Daphne just lay there with her hands folded on her belly. I thought she was asleep, except she was the first one to notice me.
“Esme!” she cried, jumping to her feet. “Did you find Isabel? We didn’t hear anything from you—”
“Isabel’s fine.” I wrapped my arms around Daphne, squeezing her close. Adrienne shut off her lightbox and scooted up on the lounge chair so she was sitting cross-legged. She draped her wrists over her bare knees.
“Is she with you?” Adrienne asked.
I shook my head and then sat down on the edge of the fountain. Droplets of water splattered across my spine, a few sweet spots of coolness. Daphne frowned, put her hands on her hips. They were both in bathing suits, their skin already turning pink from the sun.
“Isabel—Isabel was sick,” I said. “Dad flew her out to Catequil to perform a surgery to get rid of the virus. It’s a new method—not experimental, just something they’ll be rolling out in the next few months or so.” On the shuttle ride back to Ekkeko, I had gone back through my old correspondences. I’d found the requests to use engineered soldiers to test a new method of disease eradication. Dad’s story had been true.
“What virus?” Adrienne frowned. “Isabel didn’t seem sick.”
I took a deep breath. “Lasely fever.”
Adrienne and Daphne both stared at me.
“You’re shitting me,” Daphne said.
Adrienne shot her a dirty look; Adrienne, always so proper, hated profanity. But then Adrienne shook her head. “No,” she said. “No way. Isabel wasn’t having sex.”
I sighed. “That you know of.”
Adrienne glared at me. “That you know of, you mean. I don’t work twenty hours a day. I know Isabel.”
I looked away, my cheeks burning. That was a low blow, and Adrienne knew it. “She got it somehow,” I mumbled. “I saw the test results myself. In her files.”
The only sound was the gurgle of the fountain. I looked back at Adrienne. Her head was tilted down, her hair falling around her shoulders. “I know she’s not having sex,” she said, insistently.
“I dunno,” Daphne says. “She goes to the woods an awful lot. Won’t let us come with her.”
“She would have told me!” Adrienne’s voice rang out, too loud in the enclosed space of the maze center. “Maybe not you, but she would have told me.”
“We all have secrets,” I told her, trying to be a comfort. But she didn’t listen, just slid off her lounging chair and stalked toward the maze exit.
I covered my face with my hands. I wanted to be the rock, the big sister who told them not to worry. I wasn’t about to tell them about my doubts, that I had thought the same thing—Isabel couldn’t be having sex! But I had seen the test results when I met with the doctor. She had explained everything to me, showed me how the surgery had worked.
Daphne sat down beside me and put her arm around my shoulder. I lifted my gaze up t
o the plumeria blooming in effulgence.
“She has that friend,” Daphne said quietly. “That girl, the one who lives in the company enclave. Maybe her?”
I knew the friend Daphne was talking about, but she was a manager’s daughter, and managers’ daughters shouldn’t get Lasely.
But then, Isabel, the CEO’s daughter, had.
“It’s not that big a deal,” Daphne said. “Especially since they were apparently able to get rid of it?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Although it was a major surgery. She was asleep the whole time I was there. The doctor promised she’d have her send a holo. If she doesn’t, I’m going back.”
Daphne nodded. She laid her head on my shoulder. “Good. I think that sounds good.”
• • •
The holo came through that evening, when I was up in my office at Star’s End, working methodically through the backlog of military requests I’d let pile up during my trip to Catequil. My lightbox chimed and my heart jumped—it was late enough that I knew it wouldn’t be a client.
When I activated the holo, Isabel stared back at me. She was still in her hospital bed, and her hair hung lank to her shoulders.
“Isabel! Oh, thank God. How are you feeling?”
She blinked, gave me a dazed expression. “Groggy,” she said. “They told me—I was sick?” I heard the question at the end of the statement, an upward lilt that tore at my heart. Did she not know ahead of time? Dad had made it sound as if it had been her idea, to keep all of this secret.
“Yes,” I said gently. “But it’s fine. You’re fine now. They got rid of the virus.”
Isabel nodded. “Lasely, they told me it was Lasely fever . . .” Her voice trailed off and her holo turned and gazed at some point Isabel could see and I could not. Suspicion surged up inside of me.
“Is it—” My voice stuttered because I wasn’t sure how to ask this question. “It’s possible, right? That you could have Lasely?”
Isabel blinked. She looked down at her hands. “Yes,” she said. “It’s possible.”
My heart twisted. “Nothing—nothing bad ever happened to you, right? It was always your choice?”
She blinked, looked up at me. “Yeah,” she said. “I don’t want to talk about it, I mean—” Even on the holo I could see the embarrassment in her features, and my own face was burning hot, too. As long as it had been her choice, I didn’t care.
“Just be careful next time,” I said.
She nodded.
We sat in silence for a moment or two. Isabel’s holo never looked up at me, never quite met my eye. I didn’t know if it was because she was embarrassed about the Lasely, or if there was something else, something insidious lurking beneath the surface, that I couldn’t see. All the pieces had fallen into place, and here was Isabel, speaking to me over the holo, alive and safe. I knew it was her.
“Are you okay?” I finally said. “In the hospital?”
She nodded. “I just want to go home.”
“You’ll be home before you know it.” I had no idea if this was a lie or not. “I promise.”
She lifted her gaze then. I smiled at her. She didn’t return it.
• • •
Isabel came home two weeks later. I was at the office, but Adrienne sent me a holo, a short one, while I was in a meeting. “She’s back!” she cried, and behind her Daphne ran by, shouting something, her words blurred. I switched off the holo and leaned back in my chair and looked out my window, at the trees rustling in the yellow sunlight. I was light with relief, but at the same time, there was a weight dragging me down, something I couldn’t identify.
I had another meeting that afternoon, with some of the scientists over in R&D, but I postponed it for the next morning and went home myself. I found all three of my sisters in the backyard despite the heat, sipping fizzy lime drinks. They wore their bathing suits, and Daphne and Adrienne’s hair was damp. They must have gone down to the beach.
“Isabel,” I said, rushing over to her. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
I gathered her up in a hug, which she returned limply, one arm sticking out, still holding her lime drink.
“Yeah, me too,” she said, and then she took a long drink. I stepped away from her and surveyed the three of them lolling in their hammocks, their feet coated with sand. I felt separate from them in my suit, my hair pulled away from my face. They looked carefree, like they had no idea what responsibility was. But I knew that was a mirage.
“Why are you sitting out here?” I said. “In this heat?”
“It’s not so bad,” Daphne said. “Besides, we were down at the water. Isabel didn’t swim, though.”
“I didn’t feel like it,” Isabel said into her drink. I frowned. That didn’t sound like her.
“Do you feel okay?” I said. “You’re not still hurting or anything? From the . . .” I didn’t want to say surgery, didn’t want to upset this sunny, happy scene with any reminder of what happened.
Isabel shook her head. “I just didn’t feel like swimming.”
“Go change,” Adrienne said, kicking out one of her long legs. “And come hang with us. We’re trying to get Isabel to tell us about Catequil.”
“I told you,” Isabel said sullenly. “I didn’t see anything.”
“There’s not much to tell about Starspray City anyway,” I said, but I still couldn’t shake that twist of concern. Isabel seemed like she had retreated into herself. She kept sipping at her drink and glancing over at the woods. She twisted one finger around the strap of her bathing suit, twisting twisting twisting and then letting it drop and then doing it again. A distracted, nervous gesture.
That night, Mrs. Davesa whipped up a celebratory dinner for Isabel’s return. Chilled soup and pizza with vegetables from the garden. A perfect meal for such a hot day, and two of Isabel’s favorites. But she only picked at her food, pulling the pizza apart without eating it, stirring the soup around.
I watched Isabel over the table as she toyed with her food. I wondered if she was embarrassed about catching Lasely fever. None of us had brought it up, as far as I knew. We certainly didn’t talk about it at dinner. Adrienne was going on about the episodes of The Intensity of Days that Isabel had missed, and Daphne kept rolling her eyes at the more absurd plot points. It should have been a safe conversation. No mention of an embarrassing illness. No mention of the surgery, or even of Catequil. But Isabel just seemed to pull further and further away, until she was alone at the table, the spoon in her soup bowl going around and around.
And then she pushed away from the table, jerking back suddenly. Adrienne looked up at her, frowning.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Yeah, we haven’t even gotten dessert yet.” Daphne tilted her head. “Pineapple ice cream. Your favorite!”
Isabel sighed. She curled her hands around the top of the chair. “I’m just tired,” she said. “I’m sure there’ll be ice cream for me left over.”
Tired. Of course. She had just left the hospital and flown across the black. She was probably exhausted.
“Why don’t you get some rest,” I said. Isabel turned to me, her eyes half-hidden behind her hair. “We’ll be fine without you. Won’t we?” I glanced over at Adrienne and Daphne. Daphne shrugged. Adrienne poked at her soup.
Isabel nodded. “I think that’s what I want,” she said. “To rest.”
• • •
I stayed up late that night to catch up on some of the work I’d missed because of Isabel’s surprise homecoming. Or at least trying to—it was hard to concentrate, and my thoughts kept drifting back to that afternoon and evening. To Isabel. Did I really believe she was just tired and embarrassed? Or had something else happened out there on Catequil?
I couldn’t imagine what. All of the parts of Dad’s story checked out. They all fit together like a puzzle. But worry still nagged at the back of my head.
A knock came at my door.
I jumped, startled by the loudness of it. Then I sighe
d, shut down my holoscreen, and walked over to the door. I expected one of the staff. Mr. Whittaker, maybe, serving as my father’s envoy. Who else would be up this late?
But it was Isabel.
“Isabel?” I blinked down at her, taking her in. She wore a flimsy nightgown, and her hair was mussed like she’d been trying to sleep and failing. “What are you doing here?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” she said. “It’s too hot.”
I nodded, pulled the door open wider. Even with the climate control, the thick dry-season air turned everything heavy. The day’s heat seemed to seep into the walls of the house.
Isabel slipped in. She glanced around my room like she hadn’t seen it before. Her eyes settled on my lightbox. “You were working?” she asked.
“Yeah, but it’s not a big deal. If you want to talk . . .” I shrugged, held out my hands, trying to invite her to tell me what was wrong.
But she didn’t. She turned toward me and stared at me for a moment, not saying anything.
“Isabel,” I said, stepping toward her. “You can talk about this if you want. I promise I’m not going to judge you.”
“I know,” she said, and I thought I heard a tremor in her voice. It tore at my heart, and I didn’t stop to think about it, I just swept over to her and gathered her up in my arms, pulling in for a real hug. This one she returned, burying her face in my neck.
“I was so worried,” I said to her. “We all were.” But I wasn’t thinking about my worry, even though it was true. I was thinking about Dad trying to tell me everything was fine when I knew it wasn’t.
Isabel pulled away and looked at me, her eyes intent.
And then she reached out and pressed her hand to my face.
It was such a strange, intimate, unfamiliar gesture and I had no idea how to react to it. So, I just stood there, staring stupidly down at her. She pressed her palm against my cheek. Then she gasped and yanked her hand away.
“Isabel?” My skin tingled from where she’d touched me. “Isabel, what are you—what’s wrong?”
Her eyes were shining with tears.
“You knew,” she said.
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