the Reduction. She just hadn’t wanted to wait that long. But here was Tomorrow, much farther down the line. What possibilities lay in her genetic code? What would happen if Persistence Helo were doing the same research now, using Tomorrow as a model of a Reduced of her generation? Might Ro’s descendants be immune to DAR completely?
And if so, might Justen be able to figure out how, and apply it to his own people?
As always, time blurred into a series of brain models, numbers, notes, and chemical equations. For a while, everything else was forgotten. He didn’t even hear the voices on the lanai outside the sitting room where he was working. And he certainly didn’t see when a figure entered the room at his back.
“It’s nice to see you working so hard. I was afraid when you’d come to Albion you’d given up the use of your brain entirely.”
The sound of Vania’s voice snapped him out of his focus. He looked up to see her standing right behind him, her long hair drawn back in a dark tail over her shoulder, her black military jacket and trousers looking out of place against the Blakes’ bright furnishings.
“What are you doing here, Vania? I thought we’d said all we needed to last time.”
“If we hadn’t, your striking me from the Scintillans approved guest list certainly got the message across.”
“All evidence to the contrary.” He tapped his fingers against the oblets to hide the displays. How long had she been standing there? How much had she seen? “As you’re here.”
“Yes, but not as
Justen craned his neck. Andromeda and Tomorrow were on the lanai, looking disheveled and confused. Justen understood the feeling. All this time everyone had been worried about the two missing visitors, they’d been off with Vania? What was his old friend up to?
“Where is everyone?” Andromeda called in to him.
“They’re out looking for you. They even took the gliders.”
“What?” Andromeda exclaimed angrily. “Malakai let Elliot use my glider?” She took off, Ro hot on her heels. Justen sighed, crossed to the nearest wallport, and sent out a barrage of messages to Persis, Isla, and Tero that the missing visitors were home. With any luck, Persis would find a way to flag down the other two.
He turned back to find Vania sneaking a peek at one of the oblets.
“Get away from that.”
With a flourish of her hand, she made the files spin above the oblet’s base. The smile on her face was keen and cunning. “What secrets you’ve been keeping, Justen! People from elsewhere. Natural Reduced. Flying machines . . .” She passed her fingers through the oblet’s display. “Anything else I should know?”
He pushed past her and shut the machine’s display down again. “I don’t think you should know as much as you already do.”
“So arrogant. I suppose you think like an aristo, now that you’re such good friends with them. You think you and your pretty, stupid aristo and your pretty, stupid princess all deserve knowledge about the world that no one else is allowed to have. Is that why these visitors are being hidden away up here? Do you honestly believe that’s why they came to New Pacifica in the first place? To be imprisoned in your girlfriend’s gilded cage?”
Justen grimaced. He didn’t need Vania putting a voice to all the thoughts in his head. “It’s a temporary situation.” He’d never once made the argument that Isla’s actions were faultless. But temporary discretion was not the same as imprisonment. She’d requested that the visitors wait, which they were happy to do for a day or two, until their friends arrived on their ship. And they were free to go—as Andromeda had just proved.
Vania was still talking. “Captain Andromeda Phoenix—next to her most fascinating name—has the most remarkable impression of our homeland, Justen. She’s been told it’s a vile place, full of danger and destruction. Wherever would she have gotten that idea?”
Justen shrugged in response. “Honestly, Vania, I don’t have much to do with what the visitors are and are not told. I’m merely a guest here, like them.”
“They’re not like you, Justen. Not like anyone in all New Pacifica, and you know it. That one with the orange hair is Reduced.
Her eyes practically glowed with promise. How much had she seen of his notes? Justen watched Vania the way one might a snake. She hadn’t come here to chat this time. Vania was smart and ambitious, and because she’d once been like a sister to him, he knew she classified people into one of two camps: friend and foe.
Justen was pretty sure he’d slipped into the latter category at their last meeting.
“Well, you didn’t come here looking for them, Vania, so what did you come for?”
“I came to enlist your help.”
“In what?”
“Tracking down the Wild Poppy.”
A sharp, staccato burst of laughter escaped his lips. Again with this? “What in the world would I know about the Wild Poppy?” He didn’t even know where the spy hid the refugees. Not anymore.
“I’m not sure yet. That’s why I’m here. After all, the Wild Poppy is undoubtedly an aristo, and you seem to be thriving among that community. Here you are, in the very heart of elite life in Albion, doing favors for the princess, going to parties with her— What exactly is your girlfriend’s official position again, Justen? The royal stylist?”
“If you like,” he replied. Hadn’t he once thought the same of Persis? Now, of course, his opinion of her was—well, he wasn’t exactly sure. Persis was confusing. She was silly, and then she made the most sense of anyone he knew. She was sexy, but she wasn’t anything like the type of girl he could feel something for. She was shallow, but she was also one of the most thoughtful, kindhearted, and generous people he’d ever met.
“And now”—Vania gestured to the work littering the desk—“it seems you’re back to your favorite topic of research. Only this time, you’re doing it for the Albians.”
“I’ve always been doing it for the Albians and Galateans both. Just like my grandmother.”
“Hmm.” Vania shrugged, then moved away from the table. “And yet here you do it in your girlfriend’s living room, whereas back home Papa gave you an entire lab and a staff of your own.”
“That lab came with trappings I found . . . a bit constricting.”
Her gaze dropped from his face to his feet and back up, studying one of the new outfits Persis had picked for him. “Actually, I find your new trappings much more
“Right, the Wild Poppy.” Justen sighed and waved his hand. “Well, off you go.”
She chuckled, but there was no amusement in it. “No, off
“I beg your pardon? We already went over this. I absolutely will not.”
Vania was silent for a moment. “You haven’t even asked after your sister, Justen. Don’t you care to know how she’s doing, all alone, in Galatea? Don’t you wonder how knowledge of your treason is affecting her?”
Justen’s blood chilled again, but he did his best not to let it show. “I think of my sister every day. I miss her tremendously.” And he didn’t think she’d received a single message he’d sent her since coming to Albion. His fears for her were starting to come to pass. At first he’d thought she was still angry from their argument, but now he feared worse, especially since Vania’s last visit. After all, why would they let him contact Remy if they thought he’d betrayed the revolution? He needed Remy here.
“In fact, I’d appreciate it if you could give her a message for me.”
“I think that will be difficult,” Vania said, her expression utterly guileless, “unless of course you help me. After all, it’s so hard to communicate anything to the Reduced—”
Justen didn’t know how he did it, but it was as if he could move as fast as those visiting captains, for suddenly he was right on top of Vania, her narrow shoulders in his grip. “What have you done to Remy?” he shouted.
“Nothing.” Her voice shook as she freed herself from his grasp. “But, Justen, you know that treason is a clear cause for arrest—not just of the traitor but of his entire family as well.”
“You wouldn’t—you couldn’t do anything to Remy. She’s living in your house.” And yet wasn’t that exactly what he’d been afraid of all along? He’d just never thought Vania—Vania of all people—could betray him. Betray them both. They’d grown up together; they’d loved each other as brother and sister—or so he’d always thought.
