Chapter Thirteen In Which a New Plan Is Cobbled Together
Daphne tensed beside Zada, the set of her shoulders stiffening almost imperceptibly.
“Could it have been one of the cleaner bots? I thought I saw the vacuum in the front room the other day.” Despite the tension in her stance, Daphne sounded remarkably calm.
“None of them are scheduled to be in that wing of the house at this hour,” said Chancellor Fallow.
“Then it sounds like they’ve got a case of routine creep, sir,” Zada said, willing her voice to be as steady as Daphne’s. “The programming can slip over time if it’s not updated, particularly with older models.”
Chancellor Fallow blinked. “Thank you, Miss Chambers,” he said. “Very helpful.”
Zada nodded.
“Daphne,” said Chancellor Fallow, “when are you coming in for your job assessment reading?”
Zada glanced over at Daphne, confused. The readings were meant to be done in the final term of school. That was largely the point of senior year.
“My answers were found to be incomplete,” Daphne told Zada in an undertone.
“Yes,” said Chancellor Fallow. “It was almost as if someone had purposely fed the Core inaccuracies as a misguided attempt at humor. However, the algorithm noticed something was amiss, and with any luck, there may still be time to fix it and get Daphne into a career that would make her father proud, as she must wish him to be.”
Daphne’s jaw ticked. She said nothing.
“Daphne, Miss Chambers.” Chancellor Fallow gave each of them a small nod and then swept out the door.
Daphne stared at the open doorway for a long moment, then leapt to her feet and strode to the bathroom adjoining her room. She returned just as quickly with a wipe, scrubbing furiously at the slashes of lipstick on her hand.
“He won’t come back for a while,” said Daphne in a dull tone. She dropped the wipe into the incinerator chute by the door, which she shut with surprising restraint. “He never drops a bombshell like that without giving it an hour or two to really marinate.”
“Daphne,” said Zada. “What your grandfather said—”
“What about it?” Daphne didn’t meet Zada’s eyes. “If you’re going to say something admiring about New Ionia’s beloved leader, spare me.”
“He has no right to tell you what your father would’ve thought. He can’t know any more than you can.”
“He says it with such confidence, though,” Daphne said, and then seemed to catch herself.
Zada took a seat on the floor and beckoned for Daphne to join her.
“I searched his offloaded thoughts for any message from Mozelle about any possible error with the Core, right?” said Zada.
“Right,” said Daphne.
“Mozelle was talking like the sisters knew something about Heartsong,” Zada said. “A leak. She said they were sniffing around—something about them maybe printing pamphlets?”
“Pamphlets against Heartsong?” said Daphne.
Zada nodded. “I think so.”
“They can’t do that without equipment,” Daphne said thoughtfully. “If we can find what they’re using to make these pamphlets, we can probably grab one for ourselves and give it a read.”
“Yeah,” said Zada. “I agree. Time to pay the sisters another visit.”
“Let’s go over the plan,” Zada said as their hyper-carriage approached the low-slung community center.
“Really?” said Daphne. “We’ve been over it twice since we left.”
“One more time, then.”
“We’re doing it my way,” said Daphne with relish. “Skullduggery.” The carriage rolled to a stop. Daphne hopped out and offered Zada a hand.
Zada shot Daphne a disbelieving look but took the hand.
“Can you be slightly more specific?” Zada managed as her boots touched the concrete.
Daphne gave her hand a light, acknowledging squeeze.
For a moment, neither of them moved. They were simply standing there, holding hands on the sidewalk.
Zada was suddenly acutely aware of all five fingers and her palm as well.
Maybe this was why debutantes weren’t supposed to touch each other, she thought.
Beyond simply preserving Heartsong for public, formal settings, if young people were kept starving for skin-to-skin contact, they were more likely to want to marry the first person who touched them.
“Fine,” said Daphne in an undertone. “We’re buying lace.”
“For the wedding,” Zada added. “We ask for the rarest, most complex lace there is, and then while they’re checking their stores, we slip away. And then, uh, it’s a simple matter of—well.”
Daphne shrugged. “It’s not as if they’ll kill us and hide the bodies. They’re nuns, Zada.”
“So you say,” Zada replied. “So, we’ll stick to the plan, and then surely everything will be fine.” And with that, they pushed open the double doors to the community center.