I settled into the sofa. The twins were still wrapped up in their immersion. I studied them, looking for those little differences in how they moved, how they smiled, how they laughed. Adrienne moved less than Daphne did, her eyes following the holos around. She seemed to regard them in quiet contemplation. But Daphne chased them as if they were real, laughing in delight.
Rena patted my knee, a motherly gesture that made my chest constrict. I had lost my friends. At least I wouldn’t lose my family, too.
• • •
Two days later, someone knocked on my bedroom door. I was supposed to be studying, but instead, I was sitting by the window with my lightbox balanced on my knees, watching the rain fall over the garden. I hadn’t spoken to Laila since the evening at her shrimp stand, but I had gone to the cemetery in the village and sprinkled water over the jasmine growing on Orlando’s grave.
“Come in!” I called out.
Rena pushed the door open. The twins were with her, their hair combed back into sleek ponytails.
“I just received word from Dr. Tristany,” she said. “It’s safe to visit the baby.”
My breath caught. “Really?”
Rena nodded. “I knew you’d want to know. And even Daphne and Adrienne have been asking about it, haven’t you, girls?”
The twins nodded, their dark hair bobbing against their backs.
Rena smiled at me. I switched off my lightbox and joined them out in the hallway. Together the four of us walked over to the western wing, to the medical suite. Mr. Hankiao, the medical assistant, was there, tapping against an invisiholo fluttering in his line of vision. He glanced up when we came in.
“Hi, Rena,” he said. “Came to see the baby, huh?”
“Of course. The girls wanted to.”
“Did they, now?” He grinned indulgently at them. I felt like an outsider, like I didn’t belong. I wanted to shout that I’d wanted to see her too. “Well, you can go on in. The incubator’s air is completely filtered, so no need to suit up.” He nodded toward the closed door that led into the resting room.
Rena thanked him and grabbed the twins’ hands, and they all disappeared into the dim light of the room. I hung back, a nervous fluttering in my chest. The responsibility of my future weighed on me. Even if it was a responsibility I wanted.
Mr. Hankiao didn’t say anything to me, didn’t seem to notice I was there at all, so I leaned up against the window. The rain had started a few days after the flu disappeared, like the atmosphere was weeping for the dead.
Rena came out with the twins. We looked at each other. The room was full of the soft susurration of the rain.
“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “I know you want to see her.”
I nodded. Adrienne tugged on Rena’s sleeve and said something about needing to go to the restroom, her voice a low, childish whine. Rena sighed and nodded. Mr. Hankiao glanced up at us, the light from his holo shining across the side of his face.
“Go on,” Rena said. “You’ll be a great sister. I know it.”
“There’s really nothing to worry about,” Mr. Hankiao said, turning back to his holo. “You’re not going to make the baby sick.”
The baby, the baby. We had to give her a name.
I took a deep breath and stepped into the resting room before Mr. Hankiao could say anything else to me. The curtains were drawn, blocking out all but a trickle of thin gray light. The incubator sat in the center of the room, at the foot of the bed, the glass glowing slightly golden. It made a noise like the wind was breathing, a whoosh in and a whoosh out. I stared at it and I saw only forms at first, the oblong curve of the glass, the bulky square of the machinery beneath.
Something moved.
An arm, a too-small tiny arm. My breath caught. I stepped forward, hardly daring to breathe. The baby squirmed in the golden light. She was naked except for a cloth diaper, and she was hooked into a tube and wires. I went to the edge of the incubator and peered in. She blinked, her gaze focused on empty space. She didn’t look the way the twins had looked as newborns; she hardly looked human at all but rather like some first attempt at a human, scrunched and ill-formed. She’d been born too soon.
The door swung shut behind me.
I jumped and whirled around, my heart pounding. In the darkness, it took a moment for me to realize that Dad was standing in the room.
“Esme?” His voice was rubbed raw. He stepped forward, into the light of the incubator. It cast harsh, geometric shadows over his face. “What are you doing here?”
“Rena told me I could come see the baby.”
“The baby.” Dad stood beside me and looked down at the incubator. He was close enough that I could see his eyes were rimmed in red. I couldn’t imagine my father crying. There had to be some other explanation.
Dad put the tips of his fingers on the incubator’s glass, then jerked them away, like the glass was hot. My lungs tightened. I took a step backward, trying to leave, but then Dad said, “She still doesn’t have a name, does she?”
“What?” I stopped.
“You called her the baby. Still no name.”
I hesitated. “I guess not. I guess—”
“We hadn’t decided on one yet.” Dad tilted his head, still staring down at the baby in the incubator. “Me and—” I swore I heard his voice crack. “I guess I’ll have to come up with something.”
I didn’t say anything. I wanted to leave. The air in the room was all wrong.
Dad wiped at the corner of his eye. “A name,” he said, and he turned his head to the side. His cheeks glimmered in the light.
He was crying.
All I wanted was to get out of that room. My sisters were one thing, but I couldn’t handle Dad like this. He was supposed to be at his office. He was supposed to have abandoned his family for work. And yet here he was.
Dad turned back to the incubator and wiped at his eye again. I moved backward. The door seemed a million miles away.
“Isabel,” he said. His voice trembled, just a little. “Isabel. Isabel.”
He murmured her name like it was a prayer. I was sixteen years old and I had never seen true grief until this moment. It terrified me. That it came from my father, a man who treated emotion like a weakness, only frightened me further.
“Isabel,” he said again, louder this time. He looked at me. I froze into place, my hand on the doorknob. I was sure he’d forgotten I was here. “What do you think?”
“Um . . .”
“For the name, Esme. Good lord.” The sharpness in his voice soothed me. At least it was familiar. “Name the baby Isabel. After her mother.”
I didn’t understand why he was asking my opinion on this. But I realized I was glad that he had.
“I like it,” I said stupidly.
He didn’t answer. He just stared down at the incubator, the light flooding around him like a halo.
I fled.
NOW
Will came to Esme’s office because hers was more secure. They sat in the two chairs beside the window that looked down into one of the company courtyards. All Esme could see were the tops of trees.
“That’s what he wants,” Esme said, after she had explained her father’s wishes. Talking about them made her exhausted. She leaned back in her chair and looked up at the sculptural light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. “It’s insane.”
“I don’t think it’s so insane,” Will said, after a moment’s pause. Esme looked at him. He sat still in his chair, his back very straight. He was letting his hair grow longer than the R-Troops were allowed to wear it. It curled a little around his jawbone. “People look for redemption before they die.”
Will would know about death. He’d certainly seen enough of it. Esme sighed and reached over to pour herself a glass of whiskey. She didn’t bother offering any to Will; she knew he wouldn’t drink it.
“He’s never given one goddamn about redemption.” She swirled the whiskey around in her glass before drinking. “I just—” She stopped, staring d
own at the whiskey. Her office was secure against outside threats, not against the company itself. Not that it mattered so much. She was highly ranked enough that she could be insubordinate if she wanted.
“I know,” Will said gently. They had talked about her father before.
Esme drained the whiskey and stood up. She felt agitated. Manic. She paced in front of the window, her feet sinking into the thick carpet. She had taken off her shoes and didn’t bother to put them on for Will; they were still sitting in a pile over by her desk. “I want you to be honest with me,” she said.
“Always.”
She stopped, looked him right in the eye. “Do you think this is a good idea?”
He hesitated.
“I mean, trying to find my sisters?” She threw up her hands and turned to look out the window. “Stirring everything up again?” She watched her lips move in the glass. “They ran away for a reason. Isabel especially.”
She wanted to see them. Wanted to see who they’d become. But she was terrified that they didn’t want to see her.
Tears pricked at her eyes. She wiped them away before they could fall. It was too late, though: Will had seen, and he walked over to her and put a hand, friendly and comfortable, on her shoulder.
“It’s been thirteen years,” he said softly. “People change.”
Esme said nothing. She knew people changed. She certainly had.
“I think it’s worth trying,” he said.
Esme smiled a little, tilting her head toward him. “Trying being the operative word. I’m not sure I’ll even be able to find Isabel and Adrienne.” She sighed and ambled back over to her chair. Will followed, sitting down when she did. A gentlemanly move, one he’d learned when he’d first been born. She rubbed her forehead. “We can start with Daphne,” she said. “She’ll at least talk to me.”
Will smiled. “I think that’s a good plan. Perhaps she knows where the others are.”
“Oh, she definitely knows where the others are.” Esme remembered the day Daphne had left. She had been the last of them to go. Isabel was nothing but a memory at that point, and Adrienne had cut off all contact. Star’s End had been declared a forbidden zone, to keep citizen-employees from investigating the lies the company had spread about the attack. And Daphne had actually come to Esme’s apartment. She had stood in Esme’s parlor. She had said goodbye. “But she’s sure as hell not going to tell me.”
Her eyes prickled again. She poured herself another glass of whiskey, and the alcohol burned her tears away.
“We have other ways of finding them,” Will said.
Of course they did. That was why Esme had asked Will to help her in the first place. He had connections to Isabel, however tenuous. She had refused to exploit them before. But this was her father’s dying wish. His one chance at redemption, like Will said. She wanted to be hopeful enough to believe in redemption. And she wanted to see her sisters again.
“We’ll worry about that later.” Esme took a deep breath. She stood up again; the mania hadn’t subsided. Will lifted his face to watch her. “I have business on Catequil, anyway,” she said. “It gives me an excuse to see her in person.”
“I think seeing her in person is good,” Will said. “But perhaps this shouldn’t be a business trip as well.”
Esme’s face felt hot. “It’s the second breach investigation,” she said. “I have to handle it myself.” She looked at him, daring him to contradict her. “Dasini’s workers have been expressing some concerns. It’s probably nothing, like the lab. And Daphne’s farm is out near Dasini, so—” She shrugged. She had checked Daphne’s files earlier: she lived aboveboard, a full Coromina Group citizen-employee. Not like the other two sisters, who had vanished even from CG records. But her address was the same as it had been four years ago.
“If you think it’s the right thing to do.” Will lowered his gaze, that subservient gesture that was built into the DNA of all the R-Troops. Esme felt a pang deep inside her chest. She looked away. He didn’t agree. But of course he wasn’t going to fight her. He hadn’t been designed to question authority.
• • •
Esme stepped off the shuttle onto the surface of Catequil. The wind buffeted her, warmer than she expected, as warm as the southern seas. It lifted the topsoil in great blustering clouds that swirled and sparkled in the sunlight. Esme had dressed in the layers of loose, sheer, form-covering garments favored by the inhabitants of this part of the world, and she could feel the individual grains of sand pelt against her. A layer of soil was forming over her goggles. She couldn’t stay out there much longer.
She should have gone to Dasini first. Should have taken care of her investigation, ensured there was nothing to worry about, not come straight to Daphne’s farm. But she was here now. She took a deep breath, gathering up her courage.
Daphne’s farmhouse was hidden behind a tall, dark wall in the distance. The wind turbine rose up behind it, a whole forest of them, taller than giants.
Esme strode forward.
The shuttle pilot was one of the new models who could derive sustenance from the energy of the plane itself, and so she left him waiting for her without worry. Not that she would be there long. She would present her case to Daphne, as she and Will had planned, and then she would fly out to Dasini. Easy.
That was all assuming Daphne would speak to her. She’d thought about messaging Daphne while she was flying between worlds, giving her a warning that she was coming, but she decided not to. Perhaps it was cowardice. Or perhaps with the element of surprise, Daphne would be less likely to send Esme away.
The wind battered her as she moved across the dry, empty land. She kept her head down, trying to stop the soil buildup on her goggles from worsening. The house hovered distantly on the horizon like a mirage. Esme took deep breaths through the fabric she wore wound around her face. It helped, but it didn’t keep all the sand out of her mouth, and her tongue was dry and thick, like sandpaper. Her muscles quivered; her lungs burned.
And then, unexpectedly, she was at the gate. The wall was reinforced steel, locked into place by Coromina-produced stabilizers. It won the war against the wind, unlike everything else out there. Esme undid the gate latch.
She stepped through.
The other side of the wall was much calmer, although Esme’s hair still fluttered into her face. She pulled her mask away. There were plants here: a big sprawling vegetable garden, each row divided by narrow irrigation channels. The farmhouse was a big gray-stone cube with strips of windows running around it in bands. Esme walked up to the front door and rang the bell.
And waited.
The wind howled around the wall, shrieking like a lost woman. Esme rang the doorbell again. This time someone answered: a man, tall and burly, with a guarded, gentle expression. He blinked at Esme. His eyes were as big and damp as a doe’s.
“I’m here to see Daphne Coromina,” Esme said.
The man frowned. “She didn’t say she was expecting anyone.”
“She isn’t.” Esme took a deep breath. “I’m her sister Esme. We talk over the holo sometimes.”
The man’s face flickered. “Oh,” he said. “You.”
Yes, Esme wanted to scream. Yes, me, the one who makes sure the Coromina Group doesn’t fuck you and all the windfarmers over. But she forced a smile out of herself and said, “Yes. I’m sure she’s reticent to see me, but I assure you I wouldn’t have flown all the way out here if it wasn’t important.”
The man regarded her for a moment. “Is there anyone with you?”
“Just my pilot, but he’s waiting with the shuttle.”
The man nodded, considering her words. Then he pulled the door open wider and stepped aside. Esme walked into the house. The interior was bright, compared to the gray overcast outside. The lights all glowed with white intensity.
“She’s up in her room,” the man said. “You can wait in the parlor while I get her.” He nodded at a closed door a few paces away. “Afraid we don’t have anything fancy
to offer you to drink.”
“Water would be fine,” Esme said.
He nodded. Water was all she wanted anyway, after walking through that cloud of dirt. The man disappeared down the hallway and she eased open the parlor door. It was a small room, with a tattered sofa and loveseat, an old-fashioned media screen unfurled permanently against the far wall, the corners tacked into place with sealant. Esme collapsed on the sofa with a sigh. She could hardly hear the wind in there.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d have to wait, so she pulled out her lightbox and sifted through her messages. Things from work she didn’t want to deal with right now. A message of encouragement from Will; a confirmation of her appointment with the city leaders in Dasini. Notifications of the alert warnings that had been sent out to all of the departments, asking them to keep close watch on any R-Troops in their employ, to listen for strange, hissing conversations, mention of unusual dreams. And, at the bottom of the list, sent over eight hours before, while she was still traveling, one from her father:
Good luck.
“Working hard?”
Esme jolted at the sound of her sister’s voice. When she looked up, Daphne was leaning in the doorway, dressed in a blue jumpsuit turned brown from the dust. The last time Esme had seen her, it was through the filter of a holo. Here in real life, Daphne was larger and more solid, the only softness a slight roundness in her face that was offset by her close-cropped hair. It was still startling to see her as an adult.
“I was just checking some things.” Esme switched off the lightbox and slid it into her bag. Daphne stayed in the doorway.
“Why didn’t you message me?” she asked.
“This was too important. I needed to see you face to face.”
“The holos are face to face.”
“You know what I mean. I needed to see you for real.”
Daphne’s shoulders hitched. She tapped her fingers against the doorframe, one after another in a steady drumming. Then she sighed and walked into the parlor and shut the door.