“I live on Tertius. I don’t need luxuries my neighbors can’t afford.”
“But why not move to Secundus and be more comfortable?”
“Maybe I’m like an icarus. I don’t need much to be happy.”
“Are you? Happy?”
His shoulder twitched, and he turned as he reached the top of the stairs. Late afternoon light from one of the second-story windows painted a bright bar across his face.
“I was happier before my brother died.”
“I’m sorry.” She touched his sleeve as she joined him. “I mean, are you satisfied with the way you live? Don’t you ever feel left out, seeing all the things Alister and Viera own?”
“I chose to walk away.” Looking ill at ease, he disengaged his arm and pushed up his glasses. “Alister’s office is the door behind you. I’m sure it’s a mess.”
She opened the door and gave a sad laugh. Cristof had guessed correctly. Alister had incorporated his floor filing system at home as well as in the Tower. She picked her way inside, setting her wine glass on a bookshelf.
“I can’t believe he got anything done like this.”
“Somehow he managed.” Cristof followed her inside. “I assume he learned how to read this mess the same way he learned how to read the holes on a punch card.”
“He joked about it, the first time I met him.”
“He joked about a lot of things.” Cristof looked around, his expression unreadable. “I’ll go through his desk. I think the important part of this disarray will be in the glass-fronted cabinet over there, where he kept his programs. Why don’t you start there?”
Taya nodded and squeezed around a pile of books to get to the cabinet. She reached for the door, then paused.
“Is the cabinet supposed to be locked?”
“Oh, of course. Do you need me to pry it open?” Cristof reached for his pocket, then frowned. “I have a small repair kit in my coat downstairs. It has a screwdriver.”
“No, the door’s unlocked. That’s why I asked.” Taya swung it aside, revealing shelves full of long, labeled boxes. Unlike the rest of his filing system, this one was obviously alphabetical. Three boxes were missing from the “C” section. Marks in the dust on the shelves indicated that they had been removed recently.
“There’s a program missing. Clockwork Heart, I’ll bet.”
Cristof joined her. “Maybe his team took it. It could be the copy they were running last night.”
“How would they have gotten it?”
“I’ll check with Mitta.” They both stood shoulder-to-shoulder, reading the labels on the other boxes.
“Well, at least he didn’t keep the Labyrinth program in here,” Taya said.
“I doubt he owns a copy.” Cristof closed the cabinet door and glanced at the lock. “It wasn’t forced. Either he took it or his team did. Maybe he was still tinkering with it down at the lab, since it was coming up for vote in Council.”
They continued the search, each settling down with a separate stack of papers. Several times Taya looked up from her seat on the floor and caught Cristof staring at nothing, his thin face tight and miserable. She didn’t say anything, and after a few minutes he always started working again, rubbing his eyes.
The sight saddened her. Even though his irascibility was exasperating, she couldn’t help but respect the way he kept pushing forward. It would have been easier for him to give up and grieve.
“Work’s therapeutic.”
If only he weren’t so stubborn about hiding his feelings.
She sighed.
“What’s wrong?” Cristof turned, his face almost invisible in the shadows that stretched across the room. Taya realized she’d been straining to see the papers in front of her for the last ten minutes or so. The sun had set below the mountains.
“It’s dark.”
“Oh.” He rummaged through the desk for matches and lit a gas lamp on the wall. “Better?”
“Yes.” She studied the shadows that hollowed out his cheeks and eyes. “How are you doing?”
“I haven’t found anything that seems relevant.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He hesitated, then shrugged.
“I told you I wasn’t going to burst into tears.”
“I wouldn’t think any less of you if you did.”
“It’s not going to happen.” His voice brooked no disagreement. She stretched out and stared up at the ceiling. The leather of her flight suit creaked as she folded her arms under her head.
“Don’t you ever relax that iron grip you keep on yourself?”
“I’ll relax it when this is over.”
She lifted her head to glance at him. He sat rigidly in his chair.
“Sure you will.” She sighed again. “I’m sorry. I’m just thinking out loud. If I start getting annoying, just tell me.”
“You’re long past ‘start.’”
She dropped her head and smiled at the ceiling. If he could be sarcastic, he couldn’t be too bad off.
“I’m starving. Can we take a break for dinner?”
“I plan to avoid eating until after our flight tomorrow, but don’t let me stop you.”
“You should eat something. You don’t want to get light-headed out there.”
“I don’t think that’s avoidable, and I’d rather not get sick, as well.”
“I told you, I’ll take care of you.” She propped herself back up on her elbows. “Anyway, come to dinner with me. Even if you’re not hungry, it’ll be better than sitting here alone. Then we can go ask Kyle if he took Alister’s copy of Clockwork Heart.”
“Now you’re my voice and my counselor?” He stood, casting dark, narrow shadows against the opposite wall.
“Sure,” she said, holding out a hand. “I don’t know what it’s like for exalteds, but among icarii, after you’ve eaten, argued, and cried together, you’re friends.”
He looked at her hand, then drew back.
“Then perhaps we should avoid sharing a meal,” he said, turning away.
“What?” Taya gaped. “What in the Lady’s name does that mean? An exalted can’t be friends with an icarus?”
“That’s not it at all.”
“Then what?” she demanded.
“I’m not Alister.” His voice was cold and dispassionate. “I don’t need a friend who only tolerates me because I’m the last link to her lover.”
Taya scrambled to her feet.
“Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“It’s obvious.”
“Well, you’re wrong. First of all, Alister and I never even kissed, so we’re hardly lovers, and second of all, you’re no link to him at all. Alister might have lied to me, but he was never rude.” Taya jerked around and stormed out of the room, slamming the door as she left.
“He told me you were lovers!” Cristof shouted, behind her. She ignored him and clattered down the stairs.
Like him? Pity him? What in the Lady’s name was I thinking? She grabbed her armature. She’d made a heroic effort to be diplomatic, even to be friendly, but she wasn’t going to be a masochist about it.
“Icarus?” The servant appeared, hesitating. Taya snapped the keel shut over her chest and began running straps through buckles.
“Tell the exalted I’ll meet him at the dock gate at dawn,” she snapped. She heard Cristof descending the staircase. She gave her shoulder straps a yank, eager to be gone.
“What about the University?” Cristof asked, standing in the hallway facing her. His voice was tight. “I thought we were going to talk to the programmers.”
“Talk to them yourself.” She fixed the last of her buckles and gave him a withering look. “You don’t need me to be your voice, your counselor, or your friend. So I�
�ll give you exactly what you want, Exalted. Nothing.”
Cristof gestured to the servant to go. The wide-eyed dedicate darted away.
“It’s clear I didn’t have all the facts. I spoke poorly.”
“Yeah, you’ve got a real knack for that.” She turned and pushed the doors open. “Dawn. By the dock gates. And only because I said I would.”
“Taya, wait!”
“Forget it, Exalted. You’re not the only one in the world whose pride can be wounded.” She headed down the steps, relieved to feel the crisp, cold autumn air on her face and the familiar brush of wind against her arching wings.
After tomorrow, I’m through. Reaching the front gate, she pushed it open. Pyke was right— exalteds are nothing but trouble. I’ll take him to the tower for Viera’s sake, but that’s all. I’ve got real work to do.
The wide Primus street was empty. Lights glowed in the windows of the neighboring estates, and the moon was bright overhead. She slid her arms into the uplifted wings and shrugged to unlock them, spreading them wide.
“Taya! Wait!”
She turned. Cristof was hurrying out the gate, his greatcoat askew.
Taya stepped away, turning her face into the wind.
“Stay out of my way,” she warned him, fanning her metal feathers wide. He ducked beneath them.
“Would you listen to me, please?”
“I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
“Please!”
She gazed up at the stars, then lowered her wings, berating herself for being a weak-willed fool. She fixed Cristof with a steely eye as he stumbled to a halt in front of her.
“You’ve got ten seconds.”
He grabbed her forearm, which was encased in protective ondium struts. “I’m sorry— Alister told me you were lovers. I thought it was true.”
“We already know he was a liar.” She tried to shake him off, but his grip tightened.
“I shouldn’t have criticized you. I’m sorry. I’m the one who sees my brother, every time I look at you.”
“Why?” Taya regarded him with suspicion. His pale eyes were wide behind his glasses.
“Do you have any idea what you looked like, dancing together?”
“It was just a dance.”
“You looked—” his voice cracked. “You looked happy. You looked like a couple. That was the last time I ever talked to him. The night I saw you dancing together.”
“Oh, Lady.” Taya’s shoulders sagged. Metal feathers clanked against the cobblestones.
“After— I wanted to talk to you about what you’d overheard, but you were on the dance floor and Alister was bragging about how you were going to spend the night with him, so I gave up. I knew you’d been seeing him before the party, and when you were together it was so obvious that you admired him—” he stopped, clutching the ondium struts as if to physically hold her in place. “Every time I look at you, I feel guilty because he died and I didn’t. And I can’t replace him for you.”
“Of course you can’t.” Taya suddenly felt tired. I should have left without listening to him. Being angry is better than being depressed. “There’s nothing to replace.”
“You loved him.”
“No, I didn’t. I liked him, and I thought it might turn into love, but after everything I’ve found out, I’m glad it didn’t. I don’t know. Maybe it is better to be rude. You piss me off, but you don’t lie to me.”
“Only by omission.” Cristof looked down at his white fingers. “It’s been making me sick, envying my dead brother. I’m sorry.”
Envying? Taya gave him a searching look. The exalted hunched his shoulders, a picture of sharp angles and shadows, and lifted his hands from her armature.
“Don’t worry about tomorrow, Icarus. I’ll find some other way up to the tower. Maybe Amcathra will let me back in on the investigation if I tell him what I’ve found so far.”
Taya stared up at the sky again and gave a long, pained sigh. Oh, Lady. I need to learn how to be hard-hearted.
“You’re a real slagging pain in my tailset, you know that, Exalted? I don’t know how much more of you I can take. I’ve got lots of other people I could spend my time with.”
“I don’t.” The gas lamps turned Cristof’s glasses into white flames against the darkness as he pushed them higher on his nose and turned away. “Fly safely, Icarus.”
She stared after him, then lifted her arms and shrugged her wings back into their locked position. Forgefire, she thought. What else am I going to do tonight? Sit in my bedroom and brood?
“We already shared a meal, anyway,” she called after him. “Back when you weren’t being so rude.”
He stopped, the hem of his greatcoat swinging around his legs.
“I said I’m sorry.”
“Among icarii,” she said, to his back, “when two friends fight, one of them buys the other a drink to make up.”
He stared straight ahead, into the darkness.
“What kind of drink?”
“A cold beer to wash down a spicy Cabisi stew would be perfect.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I told you I’m starving.”
He turned.
“Then I’ll buy your dinner, too,” he said, his grave tone leavened by the profound relief in his face.
Chapter Eleven
Taya’s favorite Cabisi restaurant was close to the University campus. Cristof stuck to his decision to fast while she dined, only nibbling on shreds of the flatbread served with the meal. They discussed what they knew so far. It wasn’t much, but it was safe. Taya didn’t know what to think about Cristof envying Alister. She didn’t know what to think about Cristof, period.
It was easier not to.
When she finished, they walked the four blocks to the University, heading back down to the basement of the Science and Technology building. The familiar sound of an argument greeted them, but Taya didn’t hear the clatter of the analytical engine.
“Hello,” she sang out as they entered the room. The argument stopped as the programmers looked up. Palms hit foreheads and heads bobbed when they saw Cristof.
“This isn’t a good time for a visit,” Kyle cautioned them. A large schematic was spread on the table in front of him. “A bug cropped up this morning and we’ve been trying to hunt it down all day.”
“Did something go wrong with one of your programs?” Taya looked at the huge analytical engine that stood motionless across half the room. The thick cables that led down to the steam engines in the subbasement were disconnected.
“No, it’s mechanical, we think.” Lars was inspecting a gear assembly. Cristof crossed the room to join him. “Some torsion in the spindles, maybe some gear drift…”
“What happened?”
“We came in this morning—”
“Afternoon,” Victor corrected. He was sitting next to a box of punch cards, glancing at each and then setting it to one side. “We were hung over this morning.”
“This afternoon, early, and we found the engine running on its own.”
“Is that bad?” Taya pulled around a chair and sat in it backward, her wings rising behind her.
“It couldn’t be very good,” Cristof murmured, squinting as he examined the gears. “This is a precision machine, like a clock. Does it lose accuracy with metal wear?”
“Absolutely.” Lars rubbed oil off a spindle.
“Lars thinks mechanical problems affected the Heart’s results,” Emelie said, smirking.
“That, or Alister had a serious glitch in his program,” Lars growled. “Anyway, it’s not just the fact that the engine ran all night. Its encryption keys were overridden, too, so anyone could have gotten in and used it while we were gone.”
“Did they?” Cristof asked, suddenly intent.
“Not th
at we can tell, but…” Isobel shrugged. “The place was a mess when we left. We couldn’t tell if anything had been moved when we got in this morning.”
“Afternoon.” Victor tapped a card on the table and then put it back into his stack.
“Whenever.”
“So, what went wrong with Clockwork Heart?” Taya inquired.
“It told us that Lars and Kyle had the best chance of a successful marriage,” Emelie replied, grinning.
“The deal was, if any of us scored well together, we’d go on a date and see if the program was right.” Kyle glanced up and smiled impishly. “But Lars has cold feet.”
“I’d rather be ground through the Great Engine’s gears,” Lars grumbled.
“We all agreed to it,” Kyle pointed out. “Don’t worry. I’ll take you someplace nice.”
Taya laughed. “Isn’t there some kind of — I don’t know, some kind of program rule about couples being men and women?”
“That’s what Victor’s looking for.” Kyle was still smiling to himself as he glanced down at the schematic again. “Either another function overrode it, or Alister was more of a free thinker than we thought.”
“Good for Alister,” Isobel said, unscrewing a metal panel.
Taya glanced at Cristof, wondering what he thought, but he was crouching and regarding the analytical engine with a furrowed brow.
“You’d think he’d put sex selection on top of the deck,” Victor griped, “but it’s not there. And some of these cards are ridiculous. He’s got registers in here that don’t make any sense at all.”
“Did he write the whole program himself?” Cristof asked.
“Pretty much. It was his project.” Victor put another card into the stack. “I would have written this routine with much more elegance. It’s as though he didn’t care how much slagging computational power or time his program would take.”
“That’s not the Great Engine’s version of the program, is it?” Cristof asked. “The cards are too small.”
“It’s his test version, the one he ran here. Nobody tests a program on the Great Engine. It costs too much, and you wouldn’t want to cause a crash,” Kyle said.
Clockwork Heart Page 20
