Spinning Starlight (37 page)

DURING THE DRIVE TO EDGEWICK,
I get the jittery feeling of luck running out. The first conduit was easy. No one was there working on it, the
voiceprint recording got us in perfectly, and the redesigned sempu fit into the modulating unit just as Fabin promised. It took us five minutes at most.

The next two weren’t quite as simple. A few JTI techs were at each, falling all over themselves when they saw me. Tiav filled his role perfectly with things like “Miss Jantzen is
here to check the unit’s configuration” and “Please don’t disturb Miss Jantzen while she’s working.” The techs were scarcely more than entry-level employees and
didn’t have any expectation that I would speak directly to them, so they didn’t comment on my silence. They didn’t even dare question Tiav’s out-of-place accent.

It makes me a little sad.

Regardless, three conduits are set, five remain. Vid-cams have caught sight of us, so far just media-grubs marveling over the Jantzen girl finally showing up and getting some work done.
We’re doing well, but I don’t like this feeling.

“Liddi,” Dom says over my com-tablet, “you have a new message in your queue from Minali Blake. Would you like to hear it?”

I guess I’d better, so I tap the icon for Yes.

“I don’t know where you’ve been or what you think you’re doing,” says Minali’s disembodied voice. “But stop it. Your checked genes may not be able to
grasp it, but this is what will save the Seven Points. It has to be done, and don’t forget that implant. That news-vid was almost clever, but I know the implant’s still
active.”

The message ends, and I rub the bridge of my nose. She didn’t say anything I didn’t already know, but the reminder isn’t helping.

“What did she mean, ‘ checked genes’?” Tiav asks.

Dom handles the answer. “Parents have the option of holding certain genes in check during the early stages of prenatal development. Mostly it’s used by particularly vain individuals
who want to ensure their offspring’s ears don’t grow disproportionately.”

“So what did your parents hold in check?”

I tap a finger to my forehead, and Tiav’s eyebrows go up.

“Your mind? That’s ridiculous.”

Sweet of him, but he doesn’t know the full Jantzen history I’ve failed to live up to. When he sees my doubt, he presses his claim.

“First of all, why would parents do that to their child? Second, you’re brilliant. All those gadgets you made on Ferinne when
nothing
here works the same way? How would
someone with ‘ checked’ intelligence pick those things up so quickly?”

I don’t know. Somehow the technology on Ferinne made sense in a way nothing on Sampati ever did. It’s not the same.

“Dom, do you have access to Liddi’s medical records, her genetic code? And her parents’?”

“I do.”

“Could you tell if they’d done anything to modify her genes?”

“I could. And they did.”

I’m stopped from giving Tiav an I-told-you-so look by a sucking emptiness exploding inside me with the confirmation that my parents really did that to me. Despite the evidence of my whole
life, part of me wanted a different answer.

Only Dom’s not done yet.

“However, it had nothing to do with limiting her intelligence. Rather, it was a minor modification to intuition and flexibility, enhancing them slightly.”

I’m so stupid, I didn’t even think to ask. Of course, getting the information out of Dom on my own, without my voice, would’ve been impossible.

Tiav takes my hand, squeezes it tight. “That woman lied to you, Liddi. Or maybe she wants to think it’s true. I don’t know why you believed her.”

Because it made sense. I’m the failure of the Jantzen family. I pull up my news-vid queue and find the packet I’ve played dozens of times—my brothers at the Tech Reveal,
everyone wondering when I’m finally going to show up, and I never have.

After Tiav watches it all, he’s silent for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is low. “Liddi, how old were you when your parents died?”

I hold up six fingers.

“And you inherit the company, not your older brothers. Everyone on seven planets knows that, right?”

Knows it and won’t let me forget it.

“Don’t you think that kind of pressure would make anyone lock up? Most Aelo take up their full duties by the time they’re twelve. Instead, I almost quit the whole thing because
I was sure I’d never be as good as my mother. Maybe your brilliance showed through on Ferinne because no one had those expectations, there was no pressure. Maybe you just need to relax and
let yourself be brilliant in your own way, which might be a little different from your brothers’.”

I like his maybes better than mine. But I’m not sure it’s true, not when I’ve always struggled, always lagged behind.

Not always.

A memory flashes: the workshop, Dad and the boys so young. A sparkling contraption full of light hovers in the air. Something I made. It looks a little like a Khua.

Pretty spark.

How in the Wraith’s name did I do that?

Spin-Still tells me something I don’t remember. I saw a Khua when I was a toddler. I escaped into the yard at night and chased the pretty spark. Fabin found me with the Khua hovering near
my face like a curious firefly. He never told anyone.

Did the Khua pass something on to me, so all my ideas are theirs?

No, that Khua was just intrigued by a child who wasn’t afraid. That’s all. Tiav’s right—I’ve been letting the pressure get in the way, because I’m the one who
chooses.

I choose to prove Minali wrong.

Liddi Jantzen broke two nails today…climbing a disposal chute.

I’m too anxious for a laugh to tempt me. My hands and feet are barely keeping me wedged in the chute as it is. We still have at least ten feet to go, inch by inch. A slight slope keeps it
shy of vertical, but close enough.

All necessary because I was right that the ease of the first three conduits couldn’t last. Minali’s stationed police officers at some of the conduits, including this one.

No problem. Dom got us the building schematics and we found a back door—or rather, I disconnected the recycler at the end of the chute and we climbed in. Not the most elegant solution, but
the best I could come up with.

“This would be a really bad time for another tremor, wouldn’t it?” Tiav whispers from below me.

I miss my hand placement and slip a few inches before catching myself, wishing endlessly for the tethers and harnesses we used during the Daglin. I do
not
want to think about tremors
right now, as often as they’re happening.

“Sorry!”

Once I’m sure I won’t slip, I resume climbing, and Tiav follows. The small panel at the top is meant to open easily enough from the outside, whenever a lab tech has material to
dispose of. It’s unlikely anyone ever considered opening it from
inside
the chute, but that’s what I need to do.

I reorient my body to wedge myself with just one hand and both feet, and claw at the panel with my free hand. If I can just get under the edge and apply a little upward force, the assistive
motor should kick in.

There goes another nail, but the panel’s open. A little more maneuvering, and I tumble out onto the lab floor. Before I can get back to help Tiav, he’s made his own way through. My
arms and legs are screaming from the exertion, so I try to shake them out.

“And now back down again, right?” Tiav says.

True enough, though it makes me want to groan. The conduit’s on the first floor, while this lab is on the third. With the police standing guard at the building entrance, there was just no
other way in.

Getting around inside the building isn’t too bad, though. Out of the lab, down an emergency stairwell, and onto the first floor. No police stationed inside. The voiceprint recording gets
us into the conduit facility, and I get right to work.

It’s simple enough. The conduit terminal consists of a raised target area for travelers to stand on with some emitters and receivers embedded in the ceiling, and a console next to it for
the operator. I just have to remove a coverplate under the console to get at the modulating unit. Old components out, sempu in, another conduit tuned to a Khua frequency.

Just as I get the cover back in place, the floor bucks beneath me, smacking my head into the console.

My vision swims. The room swims. I’m not under the console anymore, but I can’t get my bearings.

“Liddi!”

Tiav’s voice sounds far away as the shaking continues. My arm stings, and I don’t know why until my eyes focus a bit. It’s bleeding. I cut it on a jagged crack that formed in
the floor. That fact quickly moves down the priority list.

Another crack is in the ceiling. A larger crack going right to the conduit terminal.

Three of the embedded emitters have been knocked loose.

A chasm opens up to swallow my heart, to suck the air from my lungs.

The tremor trails off, and I push myself to my feet. Try to. I’m too dizzy and my balance skews. My knees don’t hit the floor like I expect, though. Something’s holding me up.
Hands on my waist. Tiav’s saying something, but I’m not listening. I’m moving my feet forward toward a maintenance locker, dragging him with me.

“Hold still and let me stop this bleeding!”

No, that can wait. I wrestle out of his grip, still scarcely able to breathe. The conduit assembly only uses full power when someone’s actively traveling, but it’s always running,
always maintaining the conduit’s connection to the network. If the quake damaged it too much, I don’t know what it might do to people trapped inside.

It might hurt them. It might do worse.

This one is Emil’s conduit.

Tiav doesn’t understand, not until I start pulling tools out of the locker, thrust my com-tablet into his hands, and point emphatically between it and the damaged emitters. Then he stops
arguing about the cut on my arm.

“Dom, I think Liddi needs you to tell her how to repair some damage here at the conduit terminal.”

It takes some back-and-forth between them before Dom has a lock on the situation and locates repair procedures. Moments later, I’m sitting on Tiav’s shoulders—not great for my
recovering equilibrium—so I can reach the ceiling and follow Dom’s instructions.

My hands are sure and steady because they have to be. Any harm to Emil might be temporary, might just be while the few emitters are offline. There’s no time for mistakes.

One emitter repaired. Then two, a little trickier. Finally, three is secure, its indicator lights glowing again. Back on the ground, Dom coaches us through a diagnostic to ensure the conduit is
fully online. Green, green…

“Worst one yet, I—hey, what are you—Miss Jantzen!”

The disjointed declarations come from the doorway. I whip around, certain I’ll face a dark green police uniform, but I don’t. Just a pair of women wearing the coveralls of JTI
techs.

“The officer didn’t mention you were here,” one of them says.

“He said he just came on shift, though, didn’t he?” her partner adds.

I busy myself gathering up the tools I used, keeping my injured arm out of view, while Tiav jumps in to answer.

“Just trying out a possible fix for these conduit problems. That tremor slowed us down a little. You’ll want to seal these cracks. We should be going, shouldn’t we, Miss
Jantzen?”

After glancing at the diagnostic display to verify the last icon turned green, I nod and leave the room with Tiav. Back to the stairwell, back to the lab, back to the disposal chute.

Sliding down is a lot faster than climbing up was.

We’re in the hovercar and on our way with no sign of the police out front being aware of us. The technicians will probably mention my presence when they leave, but I can’t worry
about that.

I’m too busy shaking.

It’s nothing to do with Tiav finally tending to my arm, nothing to do with the bump on my head that makes me wince when he runs his fingers through my hair. When he wraps his arms around
me, the shaking only gets worse.

“I’m sure your brothers are fine.”

The warmth of his whisper on my cheek tempts me with its reassurance. But we both know he isn’t really sure. We know we can’t spare the time to summon a Khua and check. We know we
have to finish the job, and only then will I see if Emil’s all right.