Page 105 of Coldwire
I make a turn toward the riverbank, throwing my hard hat and my vest into a trash can. Kieren does the same. There’s no proper path when we proceed down. The mud glides underfoot—I hold my arms out for balance, just as I do on campus grounds, at the slopes near the cliffs that are always damp despite the weather. I cast a glance over my shoulder, wary in case Kieren needs assistance, but he’s as prompt as I am, skidding along the grass until we’ve reached a flat pebble path again.
We haven’t ventured far from the parade, yet the sound diminishes significantly, drowned out by the light ebb of the river. I stroll right up to the edge of the water, pressing against the railing. I retrieve the reader from my waistband.
“Pass me the disk,” I say. I’m already searching for the wireless connection in my display, entering the reader’s serial number to confirm that I want to link to the device.
A nudge against my arm. Kieren is trying to be subtle with the disk pass.
“Let me connect too.” He reaches for the reader.
“Wait,” I say quickly, veering it away. “Let me… let me see first. I just need to see.”
Kieren frowns. It’s broad daylight. Though the clouds are gray, our surroundings remain starkly lit. The murky water glistens; the buildings on the other side glint excitedly.
But Kieren’s eyes are wholly dark. He’s suspicious because of my request, and there’s a lurch in my chest that I identify as relief—a normal reaction, at last. Some indication that he must realize I’ve hidden information from him. I keep expecting his questions. In Upsie, after he found me in the office with the door unlocked. When we emerged from the facility back there, my retrieval a success despite the rigorous security safeguarding a server room.
My fingerprint is pressed in all these places where it shouldn’t be. If he hasn’t pointed it out, what does Kieren Murrayknowalready?
I slide the disk in. The reader starts to whir frantically, and I get a pop-up in my display indicating that it’s loading. Another series of firecrackers go off along the parade. I turn around with my display on half opacity, watch the white sparks dancing above.
FILES FOUND: 1
2044-09-08.eml
I click it open.
Mal,
I went in to watch her play today, and it is genuinely nothing short of a miracle. She is whole, smart, healthy. Chung warned me that she may be confused about what happened, but with time that will fade and the gaps will fill themselves. I heard her ask for a juice box—you know the apple-flavored one she likes best—and I felt like I was wearing my heart outside of my chest.
This is a success. I know you have your qualms with what we’ve allowed to happen, but you should see this as a stride in science rather than something unnatural. We have had such precious little time with her, and now we can have her back.
I’ll be home soon.
—Henry
There are no more pages to the file. Nothing more inside the disk. It’s one email that my dad sent to Mallory. One email that warranted a unique reader setup and every method in our cadet-trained arsenal to obtain.
“Lia,” Kieren prompts. “Show it to me.”
I hand him the reader without any further protest, gesturing that he can connect and see for himself. I’m at a loss over these pieces, bewilderment and dread alike heavy in my stomach. We’ve followed the entire trail of Chung’s disappearance and found him holding on to an email from Dad. Why would Chung even possess this?
Why set up custom warnings bidding me to say nothing? Why leave me access into the offices? Why scatter these devices as though we’re partaking in a top secret exchange, only for there to be oneemail?
“Is… this you?” Kieren asks. He’s finished reading. “It sounds like he’s talking about a young child.”
“I don’t think it is,” I say quietly. “If it were me, there would be nothing noteworthy about it. No reason to keep it stored and protected like that.”
Kieren frowns. “It’s signed off by a Henry. That has to be your dad, right?”
“It is.” I disconnect from the reader, clearing my vision. When that doesn’t erase the words from my mind’s eye, I scrub my hands vigorously down my face, needing to make some sense out of it, any sense at all, and I can only circle back to one conclusion. “I think he’s talking about his birth daughter. The one who was supposed to have died months before this email.”
29EIRALE
I tie a jacket over my head, as though that’ll do much against the cameras across Threto.
“Still alive?” I whisper.
The comm link rustles in my ear.
