The Ophelia Prophecy (12 page)

“It spoke to me,” she said. She hadn’t planned to tell him this. But it had been eating at her. And nervousness kept her talking.

He lifted an eyebrow. “
What
spoke to you?”

“The wasp. It had me pinned to the ground. It looked into my face and spoke to me.” She let go of his gaze, shutting out the expression of alarm for a moment so she could remember. “It told me we aren’t stronger or faster or better than them.”

Paxton sat back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “You’re sure?”

“It felt like it was in my head.” She remembered the weird echoing quality of its speech. “Actually it felt like a hundred voices in my head. But I didn’t imagine it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“No.”

“It was going to kill me. It…” She bit her lip, hesitating.

“Tell me.”

“It made a
joke
about it. Said it would sting.”

Paxton’s eyes widened, and his gaze shifted to the floor as he considered this. “They seemed too animal for that. None of the ones at the abbey spoke, as far as I know.”

“Could it be they’re not all alike? Maybe only some can speak.”

He nodded. “It would be more surprising if they
were
all alike.”

Paxton continued deep in thought, and she knew something about this revelation disturbed him. It had certainly disturbed
her
. It was hard to imagine their reasons were the same.

“I didn’t know mutations that extreme had survived,” she said.

He laughed dryly. “You should just toss out anything you’ve been told about what is and isn’t possible with regard to transgenics. In the decades before you and I were born, the biohacking community was like the American Wild West. No regulations. No tracking. No controls. We find new kinds of organisms
all the time
. That’s part of the reason for the Scarab patrols. We can’t afford to overlook some species that might threaten us some day.”

She knew the garage labs had been careless. That they lacked proper training and equipment. And they’d been so numerous that what regulations
had
been in place had been completely ineffectual.

“It seemed strange to me, you fighting them,” she ventured. “I mean, they’re like you.”

Paxton raised his eyes to her face. “That’s a very human thing to say.”

Her cheeks flashed hot. But his brittle tone softened as he continued, “I think what you mean is we both have insect DNA. That’s true, but … look at me, Asha.”

Something about the way he said this made her shake. Her head felt unsteady as she met his gaze.

“Am I more like you, or like them?” he asked.

Those eyes of his—with their elfin slant and veined green color very much like those luminous pulses of Banshee’s—were not a good measure. Her gaze flowed over the rest of him.

“You’re right,” she said. “But we’re enemies too.”

He studied her a moment. “I know you’ve been taught to hate us. I’m curious whether anyone ever educated you about the reason for the war.”

They were moving into perilous territory, but anything was better than revisiting the topic of her intentions toward him or his ship.

“We were taught that you were designed to be aggressive,” she replied, “and that it led you to band together to conquer us.”

Paxton smiled darkly, but before he could reply she continued, “But my father told me it was because we treated you like animals. That you hated us for that. There’s plenty of Archive material that backs that up.”

She noted the flicker of surprise. “Well, there’s truth to both stories. Our parents did hate you for how you treated us. But we also believed we were superior. That we could manage things better. In some ways we have. In others I don’t think we’re much different.”

He grew thoughtful, and it robbed his countenance of its customary severity. She remembered what Beck had said about being squeamish—if she wanted to go home, she couldn’t afford it. But what he had insinuated about Paxton …
Was
there something beyond those slumbering mating instincts?

“You have a…” She trailed off, raising her hand until her fingers almost touched a cut along his cheekbone.

Confusion wrinkled his brow, and then it smoothed with understanding. “It’s not deep.”

“Could I…?” She reached into the first aid box and lifted out the jar of salve.

He hesitated, surprised. She expected him to decline. She almost hoped he would. But instead he said, “Thank you.”

Fingers trembling, she scooped out a small amount of salve. As she touched his cheek he blinked, and she felt a warm fluttering in her abdomen.

She bent closer, smoothing away the excess with the tips of her fingers. When she finished, their eyes met. She felt his breath against her cheeks. Her heart raced as her gaze slipped down, tracing the curve of his mouth. His lips parted.

On impulse she leaned in, giving a small sniff, like an animal scenting something. Something flashed in his eyes, and she felt his fingers slide up her arm.

She sat up, and he did too. She wasn’t sure whether she’d lost her nerve or found it, but she decided to give him one more chance. Just one before she considered helping Beck to betray him.

“Take me home, Pax,” she breathed. His eyes locked on to hers. It was the first time she’d spoken his name. “Take all of us home. Back to Sanctuary, I mean. We’re no threat to you.”

“Asha…” He sank back in his chair, frowning deeply.

“I’m not a spy, or an assassin. Something’s happened to me—some kind of brain injury. Even if I was a spy, how could I hurt you from Sanctuary?” She leaned close again, laying her hand on his arm, and he flinched. “I’m afraid to go to Granada. I want to go home.”

He watched her with pursed lips and set jaw.

“Please, Pax. If you don’t care about me, think about the others on board. There are children who’ve lost their parents. Wounded people needing care. What will happen to them?”

“They can’t go to Sanctuary,” he said flatly.

“Why not?”

The pleading, desperate edge to her voice—which was not at all pretended—did nothing to shift the disconcerting, dark resolve that had taken the place of his softer expression.

“They’re most likely contaminated,” he said. “Some humans survived the plague because they were in protected areas. But most survivors have been found to have some form of nonhuman DNA. Usually insect, sometimes animal.”

She stared at him, confused. What he’d said raised so many questions she didn’t know which to ask first.

“I thought the plague wiped out everyone with animal DNA, along with the pure DNA humans.”

He gave a grim nod. “Mostly true. A lot of the experimentation with animals came early, before lab regulation. But later animal transgenics had the same required genetic marker that protected the insect transgenics.”

“So you’re saying Beck’s people are transgenic? Maybe even Manti?”

“We don’t know yet. Banshee and Nefertiti are equipped for DNA sequencing. All the passengers are being checked en route.”

“If they are,” she said, finally understanding, “Sanctuary won’t take them.”

She tried to imagine Beck’s reaction to finding out he
was
his enemy. She was about to ask what Pax intended to do with them when he said, “You’re right. But it’s not the only reason they can’t go there.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sanctuary is uncontaminated. It has to stay that way.”

His guarded expression caused her heart to thump uneasily. “I still don’t understand.”

“Manti insect genes are dominant. If we don’t continue to incorporate human DNA, eventually our species will devolve, like the wasps. Until we can perfect synthetic DNA, we need protected organic sources.”

Protected organic sources
. It took her a moment to process the phrase. When she did, the deck of the ship whirled under her. She felt queasy.

Her whole life she’d been taught that Sanctuary represented hope. A second chance for humanity. Unless she’d misunderstood him, Pax was telling her they were nothing more than an insurance policy for the continuing supremacy of their enemies.

Her fingers curled under the edge of her seat, squeezing, trying to stop the free fall.

“What happens—” Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat. “What happens once you have the synthetic DNA you need?”

“I don’t know. There’s some controversy about that. But I believe we’d be foolish to allow you all to die out.”

Her body shook from the blast of his revelation. It changed everything—or almost everything. It didn’t change the fact humans had survived, and as long as there were survivors, there was hope. The Manti’s DNA problem might very well be the only reason they
had
survived.

She glanced up. “That’s why a Manti prince is watching over our city. You’re not a kidnapper. Or a slaver.”

He shook his head. “Sanctuary is ideally situated. No transgenic activity within hundreds of kilometers. Few creatures can thrive in that environment. Had it been otherwise, we would have relocated you to Granada. We may still at some point. But our psychologists have made a pretty strong case for the health benefits of the illusion of autonomy.”

Dear God
. Asha closed her eyes and breathed. The weight of it bore down on her, heavier with each new revelation. Her body seemed to fuse with the chair as she braced herself for what would come next.

“What about the people who disappear?” she asked.

Her question was met with silence. After a few moments she opened her eyes.

Pax leaned forward, resting elbows on knees and folding his hands.

“We have an understanding with your governing council.”

Her heart heaved.

“That’s why you have power enough to run those computers in your Archive,” he continued, “and plenty of food and clean water even in the driest summers. That’s why we leave you alone. But if the general population knew, there’d be an uprising. When someone finds out the truth, and someone always
does
, they have to be … removed.”

She stared at him in horror as the last block of her foundation crumbled to dust. “I … My mother’s on the governing council.”

He froze, and his mouth opened, then closed. Finally he rose to his feet. “I know all this was hard for you to hear. But I think you understand now that you can never go home.”

He held her gaze only a moment—just long enough to see her collapsing in on herself. She sickened at the irony. The preservation of information had given shape and meaning to her life. And now information, carefully concealed, had stripped all meaning away.

*   *   *

Pax returned to the bridge and sank into the pilot’s chair, leaning on the console with his head in his hands.

What had been the point of telling her all that? Couldn’t he at least have given a moment’s consideration to the fact he was knocking the ground out from under her—destroying everything she’d ever known or believed? Any hope she might have been holding on to?

Just as well,
he thought bitterly.
There is no hope for her.

“Banshee,” he muttered, “keep an eye on Asha. Keep me updated on what she’s doing.”

“Yes, Captain. Asha is seated in the galley. She’s crying.”

Pax closed his eyes. “Just report every quarter hour. Unless she does something you think I need to know about right away. Use your judgment. Don’t permit her to harm herself.”

“Yes, Captain. Captain, Nefertiti has transmitted her passenger data, and I’ve compiled a report on the Irish survivors.”

“Summarize.”

“Survivors are human, with one exception.”

He glanced up with surprise. “Only one? Who is it?”

“Identified as ‘Father Carrick.’ Lupine contamination.”

He should have known. The man had a feral intensity. But Pax’s senses weren’t as sharp as his sister’s, especially when it came to non-insect transgenics. Iris had fought alongside Carrick in the abbey. Surely she had detected the abnormality. Why hadn’t she said so?

It wasn’t the result Pax had expected. Now he was obligated to take the lot of them to Granada. The humans would go into confinement. As for the priest … Pax was pretty sure this was the first documented wolf-flavored transgenic organism. Wolves were believed to be extinct. The scientists at Sustainable Transgenics would be
very
interested in him.

Pax’s father would be pleased about the find, maybe even enough to overlook the questionable decisions his son had made in the last twenty-four hours.

And the humans would be taken care of. They wouldn’t die from hunger or exposure or attacks by hostile species. They’d have the option of buying their freedom through intermarriage—even Asha, if he could confirm she wasn’t a spy.

He could almost make himself easy about all of it. Until he looked at it through Asha’s eyes. She was going to hate him for this.

*   *   *

Sanctuary was within the bounds of Arches, but the park was huge. If you wanted to explore the farthest boundary you had to spend the night away from the city, or know someone who had access to one of the handful of rechargeable buggies the governing council had managed to keep running since the war. Due to Asha’s mother’s position on the council, Asha had probably seen more of the park than most.

Her favorite time to explore was the cool of a late-spring evening, and her favorite spot was the Fiery Furnace. She and her father had explored every corner of the labyrinthine sandstone canyon. There was a small arch they liked to scale so they could sit and watch the sun go down.

She felt like she was at the base of one of those narrow canyons now. Instead of the flutter of excitement she usually felt gazing up the burnt-orange walls to the ribbon of clear sky above, claustrophobia was setting in. The walls groaned and tipped inward, sealing out the light.

She stood up from the table, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She exited the galley.

The panel slid closed behind her, and she stood alone in the dark corridor. She backed against one wall, forgetting for the moment the strange nature of the ship. The living membrane warmed beneath her, and a circle of green light materialized at her hip. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes, pressing her hand against the circle.