“You need to rest,” Ephraim says to her. “I’m going to give you a light sedative, okay? The more you can sleep, the more your body can do its job of getting you well.”
Noemi doesn’t care for the idea of being drugged, Abel can tell. But she nods. She must feel even worse than she looks.
As Ephraim readies the sedative, she says, “Abel—what we talked about, when we first set out—” Her deep brown eyes search his. “You know how to finish up without me. You would, right?”
Once she gave him orders to destroy the Genesis Gate after her death, if necessary. Now she’s asking him as her equal.
“I would,” Abel confirms, squeezing her hand. “But I won’t have to. You’ll recover soon.”
Would a husband kiss his wife before she went to sleep? Just as Abel decides he would, Noemi’s eyelids drift shut, and her head lolls to one side.
Ephraim takes Abel’s arm. “Come on. You ought to rest, too. I know you’re worried about her, but you’ve been exposed to Cobweb, too. This is no time to run yourself ragged.”
“Yes, of course.” But Abel looks back over his shoulder at Noemi even as Ephraim helps him into his own bed.
“It’s going to be okay.” Ephraim moves differently now that the Tare model has left the examination room—his strides are longer, his voice firmer. His posture has shifted so that he stands taller. “The Tare models aren’t exactly comforting, but they know their stuff. Besides, I’m on the case, too. Noemi’s going to get the best care.”
Abel isn’t sure why this young doctor would be so committed to Noemi’s well-being only minutes after meeting her, but humans often do things for illogical reasons. He decides the motivation doesn’t matter nearly as much as the fact that someone with the correct training and access will be working hard to make Noemi well.
But he will, in the end, discover this man’s true motives. If Noemi’s recovery stalls for any reason—if even one drug she’s given seems inappropriate—Ephraim Dunaway and all the rest will learn exactly what Abel’s capable of.
“I realize it’s pretty dull in here.” Ephraim shrugs sadly at the bare-bones room. “No vids, no books, but hey, at least you can sleep. Basic toiletries are in this box if you need them, that door leads to the toilet, and this is the assistance panel—push it if you feel the slightest bit sick.” This is punctuated with a tap on a square panel within arm’s reach of the bed. “We’d rather respond to a false alarm than miss the chance to intervene early in a Cobweb case, okay?”
“Understood.”
Ephraim nods. His attention is now drifting from the present moment. Something more important lies ahead. “All right. I’ll drop by later to check in on Noemi.”
“Thank you,” Abel says, not meaning it. He will be able to assess the changes in Noemi’s medical readouts for himself. Ephraim Dunaway turns out the overhead lights as he leaves. Now Abel and Noemi are alone again, illuminated by the faint green glow of the readouts above her bed. Her breathing is deep and even; Abel takes what comfort he can from this.
If he doesn’t fall into a recursive loop of worrying about Noemi, he can turn his primary mental functions to a more useful purpose, namely, coming up with a plan of action they can execute upon her recovery. If she gets better within the next few days, they’ll have time to carry out her plan, preventing the Masada Run and destroying the Gate. But their margin of safety grows narrower by the day. He should plan and prepare as much as possible so he and Noemi can get started immediately.
He closes his eyes and envisions the layout of the landing bay and the spaceport, the course taken by the medtram to the hospital. It’s a partial blueprint only, but sufficient for him to get Noemi back to the Daedalus, which is the most important thing.
Next, he needs to figure out how to capture a mech.
Abel feels no inner conflict about this. He knows there’s an enormous gap between his mental complexity and the duller circuits of any other mech model in existence; Mansfield explained it thoroughly, and Abel’s own efforts to speak with other mechs proved it true. An advanced mech can and should be obtained. The Queens and Charlies he’s glimpsed on Stronghold so far clearly serve as military police. They’re found in groups and carry blasters as sidearms. A Tare model, however—smart enough, but with no combat capabilities, its strength level only comparable to that of a human—
Abel catches himself. He’s not just thinking through his orders so he can do what Noemi wishes. He actually wants to destroy the Genesis Gate.
The main reason he wants to help her is because he thinks she’s right.
Mansfield would not have agreed with that, but—Abel begins to smile as he realizes it—he doesn’t agree with Mansfield. He can be completely loyal and devoted to his creator and yet have different opinions. Is this what it means to have a soul? To be a person and not a thing?
Maybe it is.
Abel stands in the Daedalus’s docking bay with the thermomagnetic device in his hands. He looks down in the small, silvery starfighter that’s about to sail toward the Genesis Gate.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” Mansfield says. He sits in the fighter, not making any move to get out, and yet there’s no mistaking how badly he wants out. “I shouldn’t be here at all.”
“You can do anything.” Abel hands over the device. “You’ll make it through and destroy the Gate.”
“But if the Gate’s destroyed, how will we get home?” Mansfield reaches up to Abel with one hand, a gesture so plaintive that it makes Abel doubt himself. Maybe someone else could fly the fighter.
“There’s no one else,” says the Queen. She stands in front of the door; behind it, Abel can hear Noemi yelling and pounding to get in.
The bay doors spiral open, revealing space beyond it. But they’re not next to the Gate; they’re in front of Kismet’s blue sun. Abel wonders if he should look for Esther there. If he could find her, he could bring her home to Noemi.
Then he realizes his hands are covered with blood, just like they were when he carried Esther to sick bay in the first place, which reminds him that Esther’s dead—
He jolts awake.
Abel is always somewhat surprised by his dreams—it’s a kind of input he’s not designed to process. Dream logic bears little resemblance to reality; he knows that much. But what would Freudian analysis make of the dreams of a mech?
He lies on his bunk in the dark for a long time after that. His memory keeps going back to the hurt on Mansfield’s face, and Abel’s cruelty in sending him out into the Gate. How could he have turned against his creator, even in a dream?
29
NOEMI STANDS ON THE BRIDGE OF THE DAEDALUS, screaming. With fear, with rage, with horror—every reason a human being can scream, all of it’s pent up in her and coming out in one anguished howl.
On the viewscreen is Genesis, or what’s left of it.
The bombing has turned their green continents gray. Mud-colored seas shrivel and evaporate before her eyes. Every city is gone, every church, every person. Earth has destroyed her world, and now they all have to die together.
“It’s not too late,” Abel says. “We’ll go back in time and stop it.”
“We can’t go back in time.”
“I can. Mansfield gave me that power.”
“Really?” She brightens. They can go back and save Genesis—or further, to before her family was killed—no, even further. They’ll save Earth, go back and fix things there. They can save humanity itself.
Abel opens his chest like a computer panel and pulls out a smooth, asymmetrical chunk of red glass. Somehow she knows this is what will send them back in time. But Abel goes limp and slumps against the wall. Only then does she realize this is his heart, or his power, something he needs to live. He’s broken himself for her.
“No, Abel, don’t.” Noemi tries to shake him, but his eyes are closed, and maybe he’s dead—now she’ll have to bury him in a star—
“Noemi?”
She awakens at the moment the dr
eam would’ve gone from disturbing to nightmare. Noemi takes a deep breath and lets the images slip away. Even the scariest dreams fade quickly if she refuses to think about them during her first waking moments.
“Are you all right?” It’s Abel, lying a few meters away in a medical bed, although he isn’t hooked up to electronic monitors like she is. “You seemed to be experiencing disturbing REM sleep.”
“I was.” She needs to stare at him for a few long seconds, to see him whole once more. “It’s okay.”
“You appear to be much improved.”
The medical sensors beep and glow above her—no wonder she had weird dreams. She can’t interpret whatever data they’re sending, but it doesn’t matter, because Noemi feels better. So much better, all the way down to her marrow. Her fever has broken, and the itchy white lines on her skin have faded almost to invisibility. Earth’s scientists must have gotten further along in fighting Cobweb than she’d realized. Harriet made it sound so dangerous, but probably Vagabonds don’t get the latest medical news.
“I feel almost normal.” She begins to smile as she looks over at Abel, who smiles back. It’s weird how ordinary it seems to wake up near him now, when that first morning on Wayland Station was so incredibly strange. “Just tired, and a little hungry.”
“Should I summon someone to bring meals?” Abel sits upright, clearly eager for something to do. He seems more dedicated to serving her now than he was when he had to. “Or perhaps there’s something in this room. Juice, or a nutrition bar—”
The air seal around the door hisses as it swings open, and the Tare model and Dr. Dunaway walk back in, each clad in white coats. Noemi’s memories of Ephraim Dunaway are blurry, but she remembers his gentle brown eyes and the sureness of his hands.
“Good morning,” says the Tare model. She snaps on the overhead lights, leaving Noemi squinting; Abel, taking the hint, shields his eyes with his hand. “Your condition has improved substantially.”
“I can tell.” Noemi props up on her elbows. How much longer will she and Abel be stuck on Stronghold? They’re under quarantine for twenty-five hours, and she doesn’t think more than ten of those have passed. At least she and Abel can get back to the mission right away.
Or can they? Has their ship been put under quarantine, too? Landing on Stronghold is strictly regulated; takeoffs might be as well.
We can do this, she reminds herself, looking over at Abel. It feels natural to use we. They’re in this together now. She remembers how tenderly he cared for her when she was sick and marvels at how strange and yet wonderful it is to trust someone that much.
But they’re not even out of the hospital yet. “The speed of your recovery is irregular.” The Tare model frowns, like good news that doesn’t match the expected data set is more of an annoyance than a reason to celebrate. “We should run further tests to determine the reasons for your swift response to the drugs.”
So it’s not that Cobweb is less scary; it’s that Noemi kicked it fast. The reason’s irrelevant, in the end. All that matters is that she and Abel get out of here soon.
“And Abel? Um, my husband?” Please let them not have noticed anything, please. She glances over at him and sees the moment when he realizes he needs to act concerned about his health. He fakes it so well she has to struggle not to laugh.
The Tare never looks away from the readouts, never once makes eye contact with her patients. “His culture came back perfectly normal, and he’s shown no signs of infection. Assuming his condition does not change, you will both be released from quarantine in another fifteen hours. We’ll get your additional tests under way as soon as possible. The sooner you and your husband can complete processing, the better.”
“Thanks.” Noemi doesn’t quite understand how Abel’s culture could have come out fine, and from the way he’s frowning, she can tell he’s confused by that, too. Shouldn’t a tissue sample from a mech be sterile? Unable to create life? Maybe the dish got contaminated.
The Tare nods toward Ephraim. “Dr. Dunaway, I will undertake the necessary lab work while you complete rounds.”
“No, no. You do the rounds. I’ll take care of this.” Ephraim’s broad hands go to Noemi’s medical sensors, and he smiles until the moment the Tare leaves the room. Then he starts yanking them off her, so fast and hard it hurts.
“Ow!” Noemi yelps. “What are you doing?”
“This is not correct procedure.” Abel’s instantly on his feet. He crosses the room in a few steps to stand on the other side of Noemi, as if he’s going to bodily pull her away from Ephraim. “Your behavior has been aberrant from the beginning—”
“Oh, yeah, you two are calling me aberrant.” Ephraim keeps going, rapidly freeing Noemi from the final sensor. He looks down at Noemi so intently that she’s reminded of Captain Baz. “You have to get off-planet as fast as you can. You and your husband. Which is why I’m getting you both out of this hospital, now.”
“What do you mean?” Noemi demands as she sits upright. She still feels a little woozy, but compared to the terrible fever yesterday, this is nothing. “Where are you taking us?”
“To your ship.” The satchel he walked in with seemed like an ordinary bag, but now he unzips it to reveal a few thin black hyperwarm jackets. He tosses two toward her and Abel, then begins shrugging the third on himself. “I brought some of the strongest sedatives we’ve got outside lock and key. When you guys are off-planet again, I’ll drug myself and tell them you were responsible.”
“Stop!” Noemi hops off the gurney. “Can you explain exactly why you’re framing us for a crime?”
Abel’s eyes narrow, his anger intensely human as he says, “We can’t engage in criminal activity based on the suggestion of someone who hasn’t been wholly honest about his intentions.”
“And now you have the nerve to call me dishonest. Unbelievable.” As obviously annoyed as Ephraim is, he continues preparing to smuggle them out of the hospital.
Yet Noemi believes Ephraim is doing this for their own good—or, at least, what he thinks is their own good.
She ventures, “Is this—is this about Abel?” If Stronghold’s authorities figured out what he is, would they want to keep him for themselves? Is that what Ephraim’s trying to save them from?
Ephraim shakes his head. “It would be about him, too, I bet, if his blood test hadn’t come out so strange. As it is, it’s only about you.”
“That’s not an explanation.” Abel’s voice has become firmer. Almost defiant.
Ephraim looks nearly as irritated as she feels. “You two know the reason. Why are you pretending you don’t?”
Noemi says, “Could you just say, in plain words, what—”
She falls silent as Ephraim steps closer and points at her to emphasize every word. “You. Are. From. Genesis.”
A wave of dizziness washes through her, but Noemi grabs the edge of the bed to remain upright; Abel’s hand closes around her upper arm, supporting her for the second it takes to regain balance. This is no time to lose control. She and Abel exchange glances. Should they deny it? No, there’s no point. She says only, “How did you know?”
“Your medical results.” Ephraim zips up his jacket. “Your lungs are almost completely free from contaminants. So is your blood. We don’t see that anymore. Either you were cloned in a lab or you’re from Genesis, but your genetic structures are too stable to be a clone. Plus, you responded to those antiviral drugs so fast it’s obvious you’ve never built up any resistance. Most people run the gamut of all the antiviral meds we have while they’re still kids. So, Genesis.”
Noemi’s gut tightens. “There weren’t going to be other tests, were there? Was the Tare sending me to—to interrogation, or prison, or—”
“The tests were real. They haven’t caught on yet.” Ephraim goes to a monitor—checking the hallway, she realizes, to make sure no one’s coming. “See, a Tare model’s programmed to deal with illness or injury. It would never occur to one of them that someone might be too hea
lthy.”
“Of course,” Abel says. His face reflects the confused wonder she’s seen in him before when humans glimpsed something no mech ever could.
Ephraim continues, “But when we ran the next battery of tests, those results would go to our ward supervisor, who’s human. Chances are she’d put it together as quickly as I did, then order testing on your hubby here, too. If his test hadn’t been contaminated, I bet it would show the same results, wouldn’t it?”
Abel says only, “Don’t be so sure.”
Running one hand over his close-shorn hair, Ephraim takes a deep breath. Noemi hadn’t realized how worried he is until now, as she sees him steadying himself. “So you don’t go for those tests. You guys get off-world before the authorities here realize they’ve got traitors in their midst.”
The word traitors stings. “If that’s what you think of us, then why are you helping me?” Noemi demands.
“Do I have to tell you my whole life story?”
She folds her arms in front of her chest. “If you want me to go against orders and agree to be set up for a crime, yeah, actually, you do.”
Taken aback, Ephraim holds up both his hands. “Hey, this isn’t any kind of trap or anything.”
Abel raises an eyebrow. “Convince us.”
“We don’t have that long!” Ephraim protests.
Noemi thinks this guy is being honest—but she can’t afford to go on her gut alone. “Then you’d better talk fast.”
Ephraim stands still for a few seconds, long enough that she thinks he might confess his real plan or call for security. When he speaks, though, his voice is low and grave. “Thirty years ago, my mother served on a medical ship in Earth’s fleet. Her ship was shot down during one of the worst battles of the war. Mom was the only survivor of that crash on Genesis—and she was six months pregnant with my big brother. So she was stranded. Helpless. Scared she was going to miscarry in the wreckage or in prison. But then some people from Genesis found the wreck. They’d been told to report any military survivors, but they took pity on Mom. Showed her mercy. They got her to a nearby house where a nurse could make sure the pregnancy was okay. After that, they helped her detach a hoverpod from the wreckage, and with that she was able to get into low orbit around Genesis and call for rescue. They said it was what their gods would want them to do.” His dark eyes focus on Noemi’s with uncanny intensity. “I don’t like what your world has done to this galaxy. I don’t see how you can be merciful to an individual but tell all of humanity to go straight to hell. But my whole life, I’ve always known I owe you. I owe Genesis for my mother’s life, for my brother’s, and for my own. The minute I figured out where you were from, I knew I finally had a chance to pay that debt. So I’m paying it.”