“Records related to Louis Arseneau and Mariette Longpré Arseneau are inaccessible,” the computer says. “Try again later, honey.”
“What does that mean, inaccessible?” I say, typing the search criteria into the search field on the display panel. Historical records are recorded in multiple formats—holographic, written, and audio only. Still, my search returns no results. The error message displayed reads: Database offline. “Where are the historical records? No files display even through manual search.”
This gets Nico’s attention. He scrambles to his feet and rushes to peer over my shoulder. We stare at the blinking cursor where the database sub-folder list should be. “Damn. Who knows how man systems have been affected by whatever that energy pulse was.” he says. “Betty, modify diagnostic parameters to analyze all ship’s systems, priority on critical systems first. I want to know what’s malfunctioning, the suspected cause of the damage, how widespread the impact is, and recommended resolutions.”
“Just because she didn’t find anything doesn’t mean my parents aren’t out there,” I say. Now that the door has been opened, even just a crack, I need to run through it to see what’s on the other side.
Nico senses the urgency in my voice and gives me a look. He backs away, both hands held up to stop further conversation. It doesn’t work.
“Aren’t you the least bit curious to see what, exactly, has changed?”
“We’re not going outside until I get a handle on how much damage we’ve sustained.”
“Betty,” I say, as Nico places his diagnostic tools back into the open toolbox on the floor. “How long will it take to run the system tests?”
“The entire diagnostic array will take six hours to complete,” Betty says.
“Sounds like more than enough time for a quick recon mission into the village. Unless you just want to sit here and twiddle your thumbs while Betty works,” I say, smiling.
Nico sighs and looks me over head-to-toe. My gown is still damp with mud from the race to the ship from Tower Hill. He looks at his own clothes—not exactly eighteenth-century attire. “We need to get cleaned up. Do we have the right clothes in storage? We can’t go out there looking like holdovers from a Ren Faire.”
“There are a few pieces we can put together to blend in. It’s winter, so long, heavy coats will cover a multitude of fashion sins.”
I move toward the ladder, but Nico pulls me back. “Before I agree to anything, I have a few conditions: First, you do exactly what I say, the second I give you an order. We can’t lose track of each other for an instant; who knows whether our external communication will be online from one moment to the next?”
I salute and he responds with a smirk. “I’m not kidding, Dodger. I need eyes on you at all times.”
“Aye, Cap’n. And second condition?”
“If we find either of your parents...” His eyes go dark and serious. “No contact. Not a word. Not a gesture. Nothing.”
“But—”
He grips both of my shoulders and pulls me close. For a breathless moment, I hope for a kiss to get lost in. Instead, I get more grim reality.
“You’ve unraveled a damn big thread in the timeline.” His voice turns pleading. “Whatever you see, whatever you hear, don’t interfere. You’ll have to be satisfied with just knowing whether or not they’re here.”
My slight hesitation is enough to set his jaw in stone. “Do you want to make things worse? Either you agree to these conditions or I swear I’ll throw you over my shoulder and lock you in your quarters for however long it takes to get the hell out of here.”
I consider throwing a “you wouldn’t dare” at him, but I know—without a doubt—that he would dare if I don’t follow through with his conditions. “Fine. Agreed.”
His fingers dig into my shoulders. “Once more with feeling, please.”
I narrow my eyes at him, cross my heart, then raise my hand in a three-fingered oath that’s practically genuflection. “I solemnly fucking swear that I will obey your fucking orders until the fucking recon patrol is over.”
He relaxes his grip on me. “If nothing else, I trust it when you swear. I’m gonna hold you to your word. Take anything back and there will be hell to pay.”
Chapter 26
“Remember where we parked,” I say, trying to lighten the mood as we trudge through the ice-mud on the beaten path into Saint John.
A sideways glance at Nico confirms my suspicions: his pensive expression suggests he’s regretting giving permission for this venture into town.
He turns around and walks backward, peering toward the stone barn that hides our ship. If it weren’t cloaked, the nose of the ship would be visible for fifteen or twenty feet past the corner of the structure. For now, we can see only a gray winter sky and barren fields.
Nico adjusts the buckskin bag slung around his shoulders and turns his attention back to the road. “Better pray to every god you might believe in that the chameleon cloak doesn’t go on the fritz. If it does, our cover is blown.”
“You said we have at least enough power to finish running the diagnostic tests and maintain critical systems. Doesn’t that include the cloaking program?”
“It does, but only because I configured the critical systems list to include the cloaking program and life support and security systems. What worries me is having consistent power. It there’s a fluctuation in the power grid, it could impact which systems come online and how long they stay intact. The cloaking program could cause the chameleon shield to flicker from invisible to visible. If the power goes out completely while the cloaking is unstable, the ship could stay noticeable. That would be...bad.”
“The Master of Understatement.” I chuckle. “Succinct way to say we’d be screwed more than we are if the power grid fails.”
We walk for a quarter mile more in silence, surveying the terrain on the route toward Saint John, which lays two or three
