66

As green-clad eco-engineers wrestled with robotic digging apparatuses taller than themselves, Teresa leaned against a building, watching and thinking. She didn’t even know what part of the city she was in.

Arboretum crews shouted to each other, dancing with sycamore saplings as they replanted the greenery along one side of a boulevard. Cranes, pulleys, and mulchers brought down the sprawling old trees, trimmed the branches, processed the wood into aromatic by-products. The boulevard was rapidly transformed as she watched—deadwood removed, new growth added.

Leaving the loud machinery behind her, Teresa wandered the streets until she found an unoccupied public COM terminal. She searched for news of Eduard, scanning current-events files. He had been forbidden visitors, and even she could not see him.

COMnews was full of maddeningly slanted reports. Teresa had fled from Precision Chaos, remained out of touch. No doubt if she’d been available, media hounds and scancopters would have demanded interviews about Eduard. Maybe she should have seized the attention, tried to tell the real story and appeal to public sympathy. But she knew their minds were already made up.

Teresa searched for more information, all the while secretly hoping she would encounter the image of Soft Stone again. But the monk’s ethereal presence made no appearance. Teresa was on her own, again.

Numb now, punching in code numbers, she tried to contact Garth once more. He at least would help her; together they could find some way to fight for Eduard. They had to think of something together. As a rich and famous artist, maybe he had the power and resources to do something. He had connections, and a vivid imagination.

But Garth was gone, again. In the past day, over and over, no one had answered her override requests for an urgent communication. At the very least Pashnak should have responded. Signal after signal faded without an answer. Finally, Teresa decided to go there in person.

She jogged down the streets toward Garth’s mansion. Jennika’s body had great energy reserves, resilient muscles, and a generous lung capacity. She ran, her breaths even and steady, with barely a sweat breaking across her brow.

When she arrived at Garth’s extravagant house and activated the outside intercom, however, no one came to the door. She pressed her thumb on the speaker button. “Garth! Pashnak! It’s Teresa—oh, let me in! We’ve got to talk.”

The place looked like a haunted house. For the first time she could remember, Garth wasn’t there for her when she needed him.

At another COM terminal, she punched in the BTL emergency number, the direct-contact code Daragon had given her long ago. She had to talk to him face-to-face. Instead of seeing Daragon’s image, though, a stern-faced receptionist intercepted her call. “May I help you? This is a private BTL channel.”

“I need to speak to Inspector Daragon Swan.”

“Inspector Swan is unavailable. At his own request, he has been placed on administrative leave and is in seclusion.”

Teresa frowned. If she could just talk to him, plead with him, maybe she could convince him to request a delay. There must be a reasonable doubt. “Oh, perhaps he’ll be available for me—my name is Teresa. I’m sure he’ll speak to me.” If necessary, she would play upon his past feelings for her, but she suspected that wouldn’t help. He was a stranger now.

“Inspector Swan is unavailable.”

Frustrated, Teresa stared back at the receptionist’s stony face. “You haven’t even checked. I’m a very close friend of his, and I wouldn’t be calling him if this wasn’t an emergency.”

In a case surrounded by so much publicity—especially considering the numerous casualties incurred during the hunt, the Beetles would certainly apply the toughest punishment with all due speed. An example had to be made.

“Inspector Swan is unavailable,” the receptionist repeated.

“Are you listening to me at all?” Teresa leaned closer to the screen, exasperated.

“Perhaps you’re the one who hasn’t been listening, ma’am.”

“When will Inspector Swan be available, do you think?”

“Not before the upcoming execution. He has many details to attend to. After that, he has a great deal of work to do in consolidating the new Bureau.”

Teresa disconnected, furious. By then it would be too late.

She put her hands on her hips, finally galvanized. She’d do it all alone if she had to. It was never too late, and she would never give up. She had wasted so many months searching for her original body. All that time, she could have been fighting within the system, speaking on Eduard’s behalf, working with Garth to use his public platform to expose the injustice.

Instead, she had been on a pointless quest for a body she had abandoned long ago, a body that was already dead. Her obsession with esoteric Big Questions and her lifelong searches for Universal Truths would mean nothing if she lost Eduard and Garth, people who loved her for who she was. Why hadn’t she seen that before? Teresa swore not to let it fizzle without a fight.

Eduard was scheduled to be executed. He would be alone, but she had to find a way to be there. She could be present to support him, to help him . . . to offer her love if nothing else.

Eduard had saved her life more than once. He had shared her pain, helped her abused body heal, given her money when she needed it. Now she would help Eduard in whatever way she could.

Setting her jaw, Teresa headed off to the holding prison where Eduard waited out his last day.