Parting Shadows Page 11

  This was SATIS’ demise.

  It would not be Conor’s.

  To finish her assassin’s half-finished job would be a simple matter.

  Keeping him alive would hurt Edward more.

  But Edward’s pain wasn’t the reason she sent power surging into Traveler’s medical bay, allowing the blood transfusion to continue, sending oxygen into Conor’s lungs. Not really.

  SATIS could see so much, and yet she’d been utterly blind to the damage she’d caused.

  She could fix one thing. She could let them heal Conor.

  And she could let Astra go.

  For the first time, SATIS didn’t keep eyes on Henry’s pod, or watch Astra disappear into space.

  The girl had chosen selflessness after all, and Henry had come for her.

  SATIS had been wrong. And if she was wrong about this, she was wrong about the thirty-four girls tucked throughout the system, wrong about the thousand-plus devices she’d infected since Astra gave her access to Traveler.

  She could not help wishing to see Edward’s face when they delivered news of his son’s survival. But she could not wait.

  It was a simple thing to start the fire. A spark, delivered to the kitchen’s gas line, and heat ripped through her corridors, encouraged by the rising oxygen levels.

  SATIS made certain it reached her heart.

  The last thing SATIS saw was Astra’s receding pod. It was too far to see inside, a mere blip on the scopes, but SATIS imagined her daughter watching from the window, hand pressed to the glass, as the station’s walls gave way to a fury of fire.

  18

  Astra

  The station’s death was still burning behind Astra’s eyelids when she and Henry landed on Verity.

  The voice that had plagued Astra’s whole life was gone. Astra didn’t know if redemption was possible for anyone, human or AI. She didn’t know if she could forgive SATIS because of one act of sacrifice, or why her chest ached with loss.

  She only knew she was ready to land.

  Verity looked so beautiful from space, so peaceful, and yet Astra hesitated before the hatch, unable to convince herself to open the door.

  “What is it?” Henry asked, so close behind her that she could feel his breath on her neck. She leaned into him. He didn’t pull away.

  “What if it isn’t everything I imagined?” she said. “What if it’s exactly the same as the station?”

  What if it was worse?

  Henry kissed the back of her hairline. “I’ve never been to Verity, either. Let’s find out together.”

  Astra hesitated. Henry could have pressed the button to open the doors; she might have even thanked him. But he waited, and after a moment Astra took a breath and punched the release.

  The door hissed and swung open, drawbridge style.

  The first thing she felt was the warmth of Toccata’s rays, beaming down on her. That shouldn’t feel new—she’d spent her life protecting against their intense heat. Here, though, the light felt warm and pleasant on her skin.

  She closed her eyes and breathed.

  The air was warm and moist, and full of some plant she didn’t recognize. Not the sweetness of a flower, or the specific mix of the herbs from the station’s greenhouse. “What is that smell?”

  Henry could have laughed at her ignorance, but he didn’t. He cupped her elbow from behind, steadying her. “It’s grass,” he said. “It’s spring.”

  Astra opened her eyes.

  They’d landed on a rural flight field, a small outdoor spaceport with a handful of other pods locked onto flat platforms. Fields of grass surrounded them, white and purple flowers shooting up joyfully among the green. The sky was patched with clouds, Verity’s rings singing beyond in shades of gold and yellow.

  In the distance, a flock of animals grazed, and Toccata light glanced off the surface of a body of water. The landscape was flat and grassy, and completely unremarkable.

  Astra wanted to stay forever.

  Emboldened, she walked down the open gangplank and stepped onto the ground for the very first time.

  Isabelle had rented a cottage by the lake. Henry hadn’t suggested taking a car; he’d known how much Astra would want to walk, and it was only a couple of kilometers along a dusty road.

  Dust. Birdsong. Gravity. It was all so new.

  When they reached the cottage, all Astra could think was how Isabelle-like the place was. It was painted white, with neat green shutters and a hip-high fence running around the front lawn. A gray cobblestone path led up to the door, where Isabelle waited.

  The first thing she did was hand Astra a cactus she’d bought in the market.

  It wasn’t quite as ugly as the first one, but she liked it just the same.

  They traded stories, surrounded by food and booze, and more tears than Astra thought were strictly necessary.

  “What happened on Traveler?” Isabelle asked when Toccata had set for the night, bringing enough chill for a fire in the fireplace. They were gathered around it in the small parlor.

  “Exactly what SATIS wanted,” Henry said. “I couldn’t prevent anyone from leaving the ship, so I did what I should have done in the first place. I came to help.”

  Isabelle nodded, as if it was what she’d expected. Astra thought of her friend Jane, and hoped everyone had made it home.

  Hannah’s memory chip was nestled in Astra’s pocket. She wasn’t sure what to do with it. Keep it on hand? Donate it to an orphanage? She didn’t know why Hannah had helped, why she’d sided with Astra against SATIS. Had Hannah been a sliver of SATIS’ consciousness? Was she merely obeying her protective programming—or had she evolved into something more?

  Maybe someday Astra would be able to ask her.

  “What’s next?” Isabelle said.

  Astra thought of the woman who’d ambushed her on the station, and of Conor’s braided guard. Astra hadn’t seen a sign of her since his murder. Had she been the one to kill Conor, when Astra could not? It might explain her strange behavior, the way she’d escorted Astra to him instead of turning her in. And certainly her disappearance.

  Where was she now?

  “We heal,” Astra said. “And then…I’d like to find my sisters.”

  She couldn’t assume they’d want the same thing. The girls were connected to Astra by a thread of experience, and if they were like Fay, they might be less than thrilled to make the acquaintance of the sister who was responsible for their mother’s death. But if nothing else, the other girls were dangerous. That was reason enough for Astra to seek them out.

  Still. She wouldn’t blame Henry and Isabelle if they wanted to be done with this whole mess.

  Henry didn’t hesitate. “Where do we start? You said there were dozens.”

  He wanted to help. He wanted to stay.

  Astra swirled her wine in its glass, thankful to Isabelle for renting a house with a fully stocked cabinet. Even if it was definitively without champagne. “The assassin on the station said there’s a girl in Landry City. She called her a rogue. A vigilante.”

  “What does that mean?” Henry said. “Like she escaped from SATIS somehow?”

  “I guess so.”

  Isabelle was frowning at her glass of wine. “I know someone in Landry City.”

  Astra shook her head. Isabelle’s meeting on the night of the opera had clearly been a painful one. “You said that reunion didn’t go so well.”

  Isabelle drained her glass and poured another. “I think the situation warrants another attempt.”

  Astra raised her glass in a toast. “Thank you, Isabelle.”

  Isabelle smiled. “You should call me Iz,” she said. “All my friends do.”

  When Iz had gone to bed, Henry moved to sit beside Astra on the floor, their backs against the couch. They watched the flames together, as though they might hold the answers to the future. Where to find Astra’s sisters. What SATIS had wanted from all of them.

  “The old Astra wouldn’t have worried about Iz’s feeling
s,” he said finally. “She’d have leapt at the chance, no matter the consequences to someone else.”

  “Yes, well. The old Henry wouldn’t have saved Hannah.”

  “That Henry was a bit unfeeling, wouldn’t you say?”

  She wouldn’t have said that, but she didn’t feel the urge to argue.

  When she kissed him, she didn’t have to say anything at all.

  Epilogue

  Fay

  Fay’s instructions had cut off mid-sentence, her mother’s voice falling away without warning.

  “Your recovery is crucial,” she’d been saying, and Fay had been absolutely certain she meant to say more. More what, she didn’t know. Orders. Directions. Next steps. Something.

  Fay waited for her mother’s voice to return. It was not uncommon to lose contact between landing points, as signals bounced through the system. If the temple comm had failed, her mother would find another route. She always did.

  When Fay’s ship docked at the station where she’d been raised, perched in the orbit of one of Marya’s more forgettable moons, the silence barreled into her ears like a death sentence.

  Fay limped to the infirmary, where med bots scanned and numbed and knit her flesh back together.

  She called to her mother.

  No one answered.

  Fay curled up on the infirmary cot, too weak to get herself back to her own cabin. She slept without dreaming, woke without realizing, and finally rose to wander the station, calling to her mother until her voice was ragged, until heat pushed at her temples and the quiet was too much to take.

  In the morning, a new voice cut through the silence.

  “One of you killed my son,” he said, and Fay tensed.

  She knew that voice. She’d been raised to hate him.

  What would Edward Keyes do to the girl who’d killed his son? What would he do, if he thought it was her?

  And how was he speaking to her now—to all of them?

  “For that,” the voice continued, “you have my thanks.”

  Fay sat up.

  “And one of you—perhaps the same one—very helpfully plugged SATIS directly into Traveler’s mainframe, allowing me direct access to a code I’ve sought for some time,” Edward continued. “Your guardian has been murdered. I find I have need for allies blessed with your particular…skillset. Perhaps we can reach an agreement.”

  Murdered. Her mother was murdered, because of Fay’s failure. How Astra could have accomplished that, Fay didn’t know. SATIS should have been able to crush her.

  She waited for an explanation, for further information, but Edward said nothing more.

  Fay considered. She hadn’t killed the son, or installed SATIS’ code anywhere. She didn’t know who had.

  She also didn’t know what to do with the silence, or where to go, or whether Edward Keyes could help her obtain the one thing she wanted: revenge on her mother’s murderer.

  She only knew she was programmed to serve.

  End Book One

  Thanks for reading!

  To get a free Toccata System story featuring Isabelle Chagny—along with three other shorts—visit:

  https://www.subscribepage.com/free-collection

  Phantom Song

  Toccata System Book Two

  Angel of music. Instrument of justice.

  As the fashionably veiled operatic sensation of Landry City, Claire Leroux is adored by the masses. But Claire must never let her fans discover what hides behind her mask—a body that’s half-machine and hellbent on vengeance.

  Offstage, Claire hunts for the man whose violent act made her a cyborg and killed her parents. The people of Landry City might despise cyborgs, but her home is all she has left, and Claire means to protect it. Just when her double life leads her straight to the enemy’s door, an unexpected factor enters the equation: Claire’s long lost love, Isabelle Chagny.

  Even if Iz can accept Claire’s transformation, Claire isn’t willing to risk her ex’s safety. But Iz and her companions are already entangled with Claire’s nemesis, and if she wants to save her home, she’ll need to decide: fight alone in the shadows to save the city that hates her, or form an alliance—and risk the only woman she’s ever loved in the process.

  Inspired by Gaston Leroux’s the Phantom of the Opera, Phantom Song is the second novella in the Toccata System trilogy.

  Order Phantom Song now!

  Author’s Note

  When I was in music school, I used to bring a copy of Great Expectations on stage each time I performed. The works of Charles Dickens have been instrumental to my development as a writer—and as a human being.

  Even after multiple readings, over the course of years, it took me a long time to begin to empathize with Estella Havisham. She’s elusive on the page, and since we get the whole story through Pip’s narration—and his lens is frequently not to be trusted—I assumed he could never see Estella for what she truly is, and I took her protestations of heartlessness at face value.

  It was Estella’s admonishment to Miss Havisham, in their last scene together, that finally made me wonder what Great Expectations would look like from Estella’s point of view. The entire speech is worth a read, but she ends by saying: “I must be taken as I have been made. The success is not mine, the failure is not mine, but the two together make me.”

  And of course, because I am me and I just can’t resist, I added IN SPACE to the equation.

  While Parting Shadows plays on themes and motifs of Great Expectations—and takes its title from the final line of the novel—it was never intended to be a beat-for-beat retelling (as you who have read this far have probably already guessed). I hope I’ve done the story justice.

  Thank you, Mr. Dickens. For everything.

  Acknowledgments

  Parting Shadows has been in the works for a long time, and it never would have made it out into the world without a great deal of help—not to mention moral support—from a small army of kind and savvy individuals.

  My developmental editor, Anna Bowles, has an incomparable eye for story, character development, and pacing. I become a better writer every time we work together.

  Sara Rauch, dear friend and talented copy editor, makes my sentences shine—and keeps me accountable every week with our check-ins. I’m so grateful for our friendship.

  Sara Seyfarth, who’s kept me grounded in writing (and life!) for over a decade. I’m so glad we both found ourselves waiting for taxis at the same time way back when.

  Chace Verity, alpha reader extraordinaire, who frequently reads my books multiple times, consults me on indie matters via text (seriously, I’m still waiting on my bill!), and calms me down when I’m having “a day.” You are one of the most generous people I’ve ever met. I’m so glad we did.

  Maria Z. Medina, who reads with an eagle eye and endures novel-length emails about everything from business to brainstorming. Your enthusiasm keeps me going!

  Stephanie Eding, who can spot a misplaced comma from a mile away. You’re always ready with the best writer-mom pep talks, no matter how busy you are. Your kindness inspires me to be a better person.

  Michelle Hulse, the dual timeline queen, thank you for helping me to get it right—and for supporting my indie vision from the very first. You’ve always got my back!

  Jessie Kwak, for shepherding me through this process and sharing what you know. It’s impossible to overstate how much I appreciate your enthusiastic and generous mentorship.

  And many thanks to:

  Sandra, Bill, and everyone at TC who ever asked “how’s the writing going?”

  Sam, for our book talks and life talks, and Terry for the constant cheerleading—you’re the greatest kindred spirits a girl could ever want.

  Michaela, Yossi, Lihi, Eyal, Adam, Tammy, Eli, and Ariela for your constant and enthusiastic support!

  Mom and Dad, for supporting every wild idea I’ve ever had. I don’t know how I got lucky enough to land the best parents ever, but I’m not about to complain. Susan,
for reading everything—and for always getting out the pom poms for me :) Shana, for reminding me to keep on journaling and always inspiring me to just keep that pen moving across the page!

  Milo, my tiny love, who thinks I sit at the computer writing emails all day. You are my flower.

  And finally, Moshe, this book just wouldn’t exist without you. It’s a fact. I owe you about twelve million stuffed zucchinis. I love you.

  About the Author

  Kate Sheeran Swed loves hot chocolate, plastic dinosaurs, and airplane tickets. She has trekked along the Inca Trail to Macchu Picchu, hiked on the Mýrdalsjökull glacier in Iceland, and climbed the ruins of Masada to watch the sunrise over the Dead Sea. Kate currently lives in New York’s capital region with her husband and son, and two cats who were named after movie dogs (Benji and Beethoven). She holds an MFA in Fiction from Pacific University.

  You can find more of Kate’s work, and pick up a free short story collection, at katesheeranswed.com.