Parting with Del wasn’t helping her mood, either. She thought she’d done the right thing telling him all about the tachyon detector, the prospect of eliminating the God at the End of Time in this era, of the intriguing complexity of quantum temporal theory. But it hadn’t gone down the way it had played in her mind: his fascination, enthusiasm. And certainly no admiration for her enterprise and determination, which she’d privately looked forward to. You selfish idiot, she cursed herself.
He was going out to face a physical fight far worse than last time – and that’s if they even got through the gateway and into the enclave. The last thing he needed was uncertainty and complexity.
But that was my goodbye gift. Fool!
He’d smiled and been affectionate this morning during a breakfast he’d barely picked over. At least she’d recognized the anxiety shadowing his thoughts. It had taken all of her self-control, but she hadn’t pressed him about it – What do you think, what are you feeling? He didn’t need that, didn’t deserve more of her wild ambitions. So maybe she had helped.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ she shouted down the deserted corridor. ‘This is not about you!’
I should be in tactical. I should be capable of being in tactical. I should have made a lot of different choices.
But my choices brought us here.
The strength drained out of her as she went into the deck thirty-three canteen. It was pleasantly warm, the air scented with coffee and cinnamon. On the other side of the windows, the Boulevard Saint-Germain was waking up to a spring morning. Vibrant flowers in baskets decorated the facades of the other bars and cafes, the road was slick with water from a cleansing night rain, and cyclists were pedalling along with cheery smiles on their faces.
Yirella caught sight of herself reflected in the glass. Hunched shoulders, which with her height looked just pathetic; face that was beyond miserable and sliding into broken. She glared at her reflection. ‘Pull yourself together. He needs you.’
The food printers produced some croissants, and she made coffee. Colombian: black, strong, bitter. She held the cup in her hands and slumped back in the chair, eyes half closed, and began to sing.
I saw Earth reclaimed,
Got me a ride back,
An old ship, can’t reach near light.
Earth where once we came,
Earth where we all belong,
Earth where life is strong,
Oh to be—
‘Mind if I join you?’
Yirella squealed as every limb twitched in shock. Her lurch sent coffee splattering over the table and onto her trousers. ‘Saints! I didn’t know anyone else was on this deck.’ And it had to be hir!
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.’ Kenelm hurried over with a handful of napkins and started dabbing at her trousers. That only made it worse.
‘Give me that.’ She scowled and began wiping properly.
Abashed, sie began mopping up the puddle on the table. ‘I haven’t heard that song before.’
Yirella blushed. ‘It’s from back when we were just kids.’ Which was good enough; no need to tell hir she’d gone through a big music phase when she was in therapy. Writing lyrics kept her mind busy and diverted from the problems that jailed her.
‘It’s good.’ Kenelm was standing over the table, looking lost. Sie wore a simple blue-and-green tunic that could so easily have been mistaken for a uniform.
Someone was having trouble adjusting to their lack of status.
Yirella gave up. ‘You’d better sit down. It’s going to be a long day.’
‘Thank you.’ A remote collected the clump of soaking napkins, and sie sat down, leaving an empty seat between them. ‘I’ve spent two thousand years waiting for this, but I know they’d be apprehensive with me on the bridge.’
‘You say bridge, I say comfortable main council room. Sometimes I think our fabulous resources have tempted us down the wrong route. Maybe we should have stuck to the kind of structures our ancestors had. You knew you were going to war in the old ocean navy battleships.’
‘You knew your chances of surviving weren’t too good, either,’ sie countered. ‘Those days are badly over-romanticized.’
‘You’re probably right.’
‘Different era, different requirements. The gentens will handle most of the battle.’
‘But it’s reassuring having people in the loop to make the final decisions,’ she insisted. ‘There’s a psychology about facing the enemy. You need to have belief in your own ability, but not one that verges on hubris.’
‘I think the Vayan ambush cured us of hubris,’ Kenelm said.
‘Yes. But I’m worried about Del.’
‘That’s natural. It’s good.’
‘Really? I might have said the wrong things before he left. I should be more . . . empathic.’
‘Oh, please. I’ve never seen any couple more synchronized than you two. It’s like you’re each other’s munc. You know, half the time the pair of you don’t actually speak in full sentences when you’re talking. You don’t need to.’
She frowned. ‘We don’t?’
‘No. It’s funny and endearing. The rest of us are always left playing catch-up.’
‘Oh.’
‘One mind, two bodies. Or a quint missing three.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘Sorry. Bad joke.’
‘What was she like?’ Yirella asked suddenly. ‘Emilja, I mean? I can’t believe you knew her. She’s history for me, not something we can ever connect to.’
‘I have trouble remembering that far back, to be honest. Sometimes I think my life before Juloss is just a dream. But . . . she was tired, that’s what sticks the most now. I don’t mean lack-of-sleep tired, but weary. Exodus just wasn’t working as a concept, and it had taken everything she had to make it happen in the first place. So she’d spent eight thousand years watching
