The focus of the remaining footage is the young girl with the red hair: Elizabeth, the king’s daughter with Lady Anne Boleyn. There are the years she spent in the household of her step-mother, the Dowager Queen Katherine, that end in rumors that she slept with her step-father, Thomas Seymour.
There’s the short-lived time in the court of her beloved half-brother, Edward, until his untimely death from tuberculosis at age fifteen. Next is the rise and fall of Lady Jane Grey before the ascension of Elizabeth’s sister, more infamously known as Bloody Mary for her zealous persecution of non-Catholics. The program summaries Mary’s death and Elizabeth’s coronation.
I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to be looking for. Nothing strikes the dimmest chord or gives insight into why the Consigliere proclaimed viewing the file would make me the most powerful woman in history.
More highlights from Elizabeth’s reign pass before my eyes in a few hours’ time. She survives excommunication from the Catholic church, smallpox and the rebellion of her much-loved cousin, Mary Stuart, the Queen of the Scots. She rages against the pain of heartbreak inflicted by her secret lover, Robert Dudley, by marrying England itself.
She conquers the seas with her royal navy against the entire Spanish Armada and the battles, political plotting, and misogyny within her own court.
This woman is a force of nature and I would love her for the strength and grit and humor but for one annoying fact: She is my enemy.
Just before dawn, the final simulation plays, Elizabeth’s funeral. The narrator offers a summary of the queen’s life.
Elizabeth the First of England impacted the world by making her country one of the first superpowers in history. While the first clumsy attempts at claiming new worlds in the name of the English crown met with failure—footnote to Observers: refer to the holographic programs documenting the journeys of Sir Walter Scott and Sir Humphrey Gilbert for detailed explanations—ultimately, England colonized much of the North American continent.
Without Elizabeth on the throne in the sixteenth century, England wouldn’t have ventured into the New World—including French Acadia, which would later become Canada and parts of the former United States. In the late sixteenth century, England would also colonize India, Africa, and...
“Computer, pause.” I’m breathless, and not at all sure I’ve understood the Observer’s conclusions. I have to hear it again. “Rewind program twenty-five seconds.”
The simulation rewinds in a blur of motion and sound, then plays again.
Without Elizabeth on the throne in the sixteenth century, England wouldn’t have ventured into the New World—including French Acadia, which would later become Canada and parts of the former United States. In the late sixteenth century, England would also colonize India, Africa, and...
“Computer, pause program.” The three-dimensional Elizabeth freezes in place, sitting still as a stone as an artist captures her likeness on canvas. She is serene and authoritative. And powerful.
I lean as far forward as I can, and peer right into Elizabeth’s eyes; they’re so real that I’m almost surprised when I don’t feel her breath on my face. Moments ago, where I first saw a hero, I now see something that forces bile up into my throat. I get as far as the waste bin in the bathroom before I’m sick.
When I stagger back into the lounge, the holographic queen is still frozen in suspended animation, looking more like a tyrant with every passing second. The longer I stare, the more I want her to move and speak like a real-life human so I can scream in her face about what her greed has cost me.
Instead of screaming I let slip a long, slow breath and a curse. “Son of a bitch.”
Chapter 7
It’s morning. The sun is hot on my face and I’m sweating. I pull the corner of the quilt up to mop my forehead and realize that I never made it back to bed last night. I must have fallen asleep on the settee watching the hologram files.
“Nico?”
No answer. I check the bathroom to see if he’s in the shower. It’s empty. The sheets and pillows still bear his imprint, but they’re cool. He must’ve left early, but not before covering me as I lay on the sofa.
So sweet.
I pad into the kitchen to make coffee and notice the blinking light on the Comm Panel next to the replicator. A message from Nico. Had to go. Stop by the docks later. I have something to show you.
My eyelids feel like they’re scraping sandpaper when I blink; lack of sleep sucks every bit of moisture from my eyes. There’s a distant ache building in my temples and it’s gaining momentum. Gonna be a lovely day in the Sim Center, as shitty as I’m feeling.
Damn. What time is it?
Eight o’clock. I’m already thirty minutes late. I run through the shower, dress, and order a chocolate chip muffin from the Replicator to go with my coffee before running out the door.
Our training sessions have settled into a distinct pattern and today is no different: Fagin is sullen and stressed out. I’m sullen and stressed out. She scolds. We squabble. We make very little headway working through the simulations.
Training ends early when Fagin gets a call that drains the color from her cheeks. Without a word, she bolts from the Sim Lab in a state of near-panic. An hour later, when there’s still no word about when she’ll be back, I head to the ship docks in search of Nico.
The docks are crowded and busy, a typical Saturday morning. It’s a circus of constant activity. Mechanics and crew members fuss over maintenance issues and travel schedules outside the shipping office in the West corner of the hangar; Restorers teams load scientific equipment into the cargo bay of a large climate restoration ship.
Other structures in the shipyard store military cargo ships and sleek luxury passenger vessels, all
