Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
Several pages after that: KL has an idea for a technological alternative, modeled after her research into flickerbeasts.
It would be risky. Like the beasts, which feed on future possibilities, the machine would temporarily but massively augment a navigator’s power by “feeding on” their futures—by using their possibilities as fuel.
In effect, any navigator who powered the machine would suffer a kind of “temporary bite”: Their risk of death would spike for days, weeks, or months after the machine used them for fuel.
The length of the spike would depend, I suppose, on how much the machine used them.
But eventually they would “heal,” their risk of death returning to baseline—unlike those bitten by beasts.
So KL hypothesizes, anyway. We’d have to test the theory.
On the second to last page: DM is dead. Below the entry about Miura’s death, the page is blank. No scribbles, no coffee rings or wine stains. Empty.
The last page briefly recounts the usual, without reference to grief: lab time, Sunday swims. The final entry begins This morning I met MO in the park to discuss dismantling the Cruciform. She agreed—
And cuts off, notebook filled.
Cruciform? Is that what Highwall and Lucasson named their “technological alternative” to leaguing? If the tech, the machine, actually worked, why would Highwall and MO have talked about dismantling it? Was the machine more destructive than Lucasson hypothesized? Did it kill Miura?
Through exhaustion and the tart-apple taste filling my mouth, I try to think. Actionable intel, Norah. What actionable intel have you gained?
Five-person leaguing is possible.
It cured Highwall’s bites.
MO is a woman.
After Miura’s death, Highwall and MO agreed to dismantle the Cruciform.
I press my hands to my skull like, if I apply enough force, I can squeeze from the murk, grit, and coal of guesswork a hard diamond of certainty.
All I do is make my headache worse.
In the common room, Candace sits where I left her, curled on the sofa with pulp science in her lap.
I want to blurt out what I’ve found, see what she makes of it.
But I’m not entirely sure what I’ve found.
Maybe Candace’s and Vik’s searches will provide the missing puzzle pieces to make the picture come clear.
I should wait for them to finish. So, from my doorway, I just ask, “How much longer will it take you?”
“An hour or so,” Candace says.
“Bree back?”
“No sign of her.”
“Once you’re done, want to text Vik and ask him to meet us here?”
“Will do.”
“Thanks.”
I head back into my room and flop onto my bed for a nap. Sleep drags me down like gray water, infiltrating my clothes, making me heavy, making me sink.
Sometime later, a hand touches my shoulder. Blinking, I turn my head. Vik crouches beside me. “Hey,” I mumble.
“Hey,” he whispers. “Candace sent me to wake you up.”
I sit up and rub my neck. Vik stays crouched, looking up at me with dark eyes.
We have revelations to share, schemes to plot; we don’t have the time to indulge in whatever this is. We should pull ourselves together and go find Candace.
“Do you know,” I say. “You’ve got to know. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
His mouth tightens. “By what?”
By what. “My bite. What else?”
He stares. “No one knows whether the bitten put bystanders in danger.”
“No one knows. Exactly.”
“Norah.” He draws my name out. “When did you start worrying about this?”
I shouldn’t tell him. Maybe he’ll storm out in anger or disgust, and I’ll lose a leaguing partner just when I need to recruit more.
But I owe Vik the truth. “I dreamed something crushed my skull. I dreamed we were walking the campus loop, and an out-of-control driver hit me. I couldn’t tell whether they hit you. And then, in the clearing…”
“Are you talking now about a dream,” he asks, “or something that happened?”
“It happened. You were walking to the clearing, and a branch broke. It almost hit you. If I hadn’t been there, the branch wouldn’t have broken.”
“There’s no way to know if that’s true.”
“There’s reason enough to wonder. Reason enough for you to hate me.”
“Hate you?” He pauses. “Norah, did you…end things because you thought, if I knew about your bite, I’d hate you?”
“You deserved to know. I didn’t tell you.”
“You did tell me, actually.” His face, usually impassive, looks thrown open—like a door I could walk through. His lips part. A quick breath before speech.
“Guys,” Candace calls from the common room. “Get out here. Shit to discuss.”
“We’ll talk later.” Vik rises from his crouch and offers me a hand.
I take what’s offered. And I’m glad I do, because I stand too fast, triggering vertigo. Without Vik’s hand I might not have fallen. I would certainly have stumbled.
He squeezes my hand before he releases it. The pressure echoes through me, like he has a grip on my heart and he’s pumping it manually, making it work, making it sing. I try not to let that feeling—too naked, too embarrassing—show on my face as I follow him into the common room.
Candace sits on the sofa with arms and ankles crossed. She’s changed into another casual-for-her ensemble, blue jeans and a black Polo shirt. “Do either of you,” she asks, “know what ‘Cruciform’ means?”
“Cross-shaped,” Vik says.
Her lips thin. “Not the adjective. The hypothesized machine.”
“It’s in the book.” He gestures to the paperback in her lap. “The author lists a bunch of prototypes she claims Highwall tried to build.”
“What else—” I’m not sure what I want to ask. “What did the book say about the Cruciform?”