As the unexpected changes had come—Duarte no longer needing sleep, developing new senses—Cortázar’s comments shifted. Elvi wasn’t sure the man himself would have seen it, but a plaintive quality started coming into them. A sense of jealousy about all the things he could only experience secondhand. A hunger was growing in Cortázar’s mind that he didn’t seem aware of.
Elvi tried to go though it all in more or less chronological order, but that was harder than it sounded. For one thing, the enemy fleet in Laconia system shook her concentration. Trejo was reassuring. No more antimatter was missing, and the mere nuclear warheads raining down on the planet were a trivial danger, easily avoided. Elvi started having nightmares about it, and her sleep suffered.
Also, chronology wasn’t how Cortázar had structured his work. Notes and results on the protomolecule-modified telomerases that had been one of the first steps were in the same files as preliminary scans and data on Teresa Duarte. NIR and magnetic scans of Cara and Xan from his initial research had annotations about Duarte’s blood protein structures from as recently as the day before Cortázar died.
There were some advantages. Bouncing back and forth in time, Elvi began to feel the shape not only of Cortázar’s obsession but also of the path he’d gone through. The change. His earliest notes on Teresa had been much like his plan for Duarte with some variations. His decision to instead kill her and give her to the repair drones hadn’t come until fairly recently.
It was almost out of character too. Everything she saw about Cortázar had been about pushing forward, trying things that were new. He was a discoverer at heart, and the choice to pull back an
d study something foundational more deeply was unlike him.
It was a long time before she figured out who had convinced him to change from his usual strategy.
When she did, she only told Fayez.
“Holden?” her husband said, incredulous. “James Holden put Cortázar up to killing Teresa?”
“I don’t know,” Elvi said. “I think so. Maybe.”
They were getting ready for Teresa’s birthday party. The dress Elvi had ordered up was a yellow that had looked good on the screen, but she wasn’t sure about it now. It was the first time she’d seen Fayez in days. She’d been going to the labs early and leaving them late. Would have done so again if Trejo weren’t insisting on keeping up appearances. Between Duarte’s conspicuous absence and the breaking news that the enemy had gutted a destroyer called the Mammatus, it was a harder and harder job.
“That doesn’t make sense,” he said, but the way he said it meant he believed her. “Why? Why would he do that?”
The note hadn’t been hidden. It was in with Teresa’s medical scans and blood data, as simple and open as a reminder to get fresh socks. Holden’s argument correct? Consider restarting protocol with additional subject. And every note after that, wherever it had been added, assumed that Teresa Duarte began the process already dead. Another note seemed to be a list of talking points for breaking the news to the high consul.
With your life span, she was going to die before you did anyway.
The important thing is that we learn as much as we can from her death sacrifice.
Children die in nature all the time. This is just like that.
But the one she kept returning to was Holden’s argument correct?
“She was …is heir to the empire,” Elvi said. “If Cortázar turned her into a lab rat, it might destabilize Laconia. Take away the clear line of succession?”
“That’s an awfully long game,” Fayez said, pulling on his shoes. “It explains how Holden knew. But then why did he warn us?”
“Couldn’t go through with it?” Elvi said. “Holden’s a decent person. Decent people have trouble with murdering children. Second thoughts. Doubts. I don’t know. I don’t understand anything anymore.”
“That’s the thing about alien biologies and transdimensional monsters,” Fayez sighed. “At least they’re not supposed to make sense.”
Elvi sighed in agreement and looked at herself in the mirror. Her leg was healed in that it didn’t hurt, but the gouge the aliens had left in it still showed. A lighter patch of skin with a puckered edge.
“Pass me the cane?” Fayez asked. And then, as she did, “Are you going to tell Trejo about it?”
“I don’t know. I’m not going to keep it from him, but… Cortázar’s dead and Holden’s under guard. There’s nothing for Trejo to do about it, and he’s juggling enough already. How do I look? Do I look like a wrapped candy? I feel like I’m dressed up as caramel chocolate.”
“You look beautiful,” Fayez said, rising to his feet. “You always do. Also, that you care at all what any of these people think is charming beyond words.”
“What makes you think I care about what they think?” she said. “I asked you.”
He laughed and stepped close to her. She put her arms around his chest, leaned her head against his shoulder, closed her eyes.
“I hate this,” she whispered. “I hate all of this so much. I’m so tired of being scared and overwhelmed.”
“I know. I’m a little adrenaline-sick myself. Maybe we should leave.”
She chuckled. “Tender my resignation? Say I’m exploring options elsewhere? Maybe go back to teaching.”