“Maybe there isn’t a switch.” She appears to be taking this seriously. “Maybe it’s a set number of repeats. You’re a programmer—could there be a counter variable, and when you get to zero…”

  I’m stunned to silence. Why didn’t I think of that?

  Maybe because that means nothing we do will change the situation. We’ll have to wait until the counter reaches zero, and that could be today or ten years from now.

  And of course, none of the Ancient TēVē vids ever worked that way.

  “If there’s a counter, we need to figure out what it’s counting and manipulate that,” O’Neill says slowly.

  I gape at him, then hug him. “Yes! Brilliant!”

  As the door behind us slides open, O’Neill gives the Księżna a long stare. “Do you believe us?”

  “Oh, heavens no. But it’s a fun mental exercise.” She pushes between us and leads us back into the little room we just left.

  Or at least it looks identical. A love seat that’s seen better days, a mini-fridge, and a dais with a throne-like chair and a small stool beside it.

  I walk in slowly. “This isn’t the same room. The lighting isn’t quite right.”

  Sonia shakes her head. “It’s not the lighting. Those are the same bulbs, same power. Something isn’t quite right, but no one can put a finger on exactly what.”

  “It’s the smell.” O’Neill runs a finger over the ornate carving of the throne, then turns to face us. “It’s a little… musty is too strong a word. But I’m guessing we’re close to the recyclers here.”

  Sonia snaps her fingers and points at him. “That’s it! We’ve been trying to figure it out for years. For that bit of insight, I won’t charge you for use of the room. You’re free to stay here for the rest of the day. If you’re still here in the morning, we’ll know you fixed the counter.” She cackles to herself as she steps back into the elevator. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge. That will be charged to your account.” She laughs again and the door slides shut.

  “Now what?” I cross to the fridge to investigate its contents. In addition to several bottles of beer I can’t drink, there are a half dozen sandwiches in stasis-wrap and some dusty-looking fruit. “Can we order in?”

  O’Neill shakes his head and drops to the couch. “At least this thing is more comfortable than ours.”

  I plop down beside him and take his injured hand. “You really need to get this looked at.” One finger is definitely broken, and two others have swollen a bit, too. “I appreciate you defending my honor, but was it worth the cost?” I wave at our tiny prison.

  He heaves a sigh. “I guess I’m glad I did it once in my life. But I don’t think I’ll try it again.” He tries to bend the digits and groans. “At least not without a med pod close by.”

  I struggle up and tap on the wall. “You don’t suppose she has one hidden away here, do you?”

  “No, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s another exit. We should have negotiated for PVDs instead.”

  “Don’t you have any spares in your office?” I tap the wall above the fridge.

  He moves to the elevator and presses his hands against the hidden door. “Sure. But they’re all registered to the office. They’d know to look for those people. I’d need an off-book one.”

  “And you don’t have one? What would Vanti think?” I mock him gently as I move on to the throne-like chair. The one up in the Happy Poel has a switch in the arm rest. Maybe this one does too. I sink onto the padded seat and put my hands on the arms.

  O’Neill pauses in his search. “Vanti. What would Vanti do?” He flicks his holo-ring. “Hey, we aren’t deactivated.”

  I wave both hands at him, feeling too sluggish to get up from the surprisingly comfortable throne. “Turn it off! They can track us through the rings!”

  “Sonia wouldn’t have let us keep them if that were true. This chamber must have some shielding built into it. And a clean link to the system. Look, I can call Vanti.” A hologram pops up in his hand, Vanti’s head and torso, dressed in her usual black garb, staring stoically at him. The holo rotates slowly to indicate the call has not been answered.

  I flick my own ring and pull up my net tools. O’Neill’s supposition is correct—our connection is going through an anonymizer and a directional bounce. “They could find us eventually, but it would take hours to track us back to this node. And then they’d have to find this room.”

  “Griz?” The real Vanti looks so much like the holograph, I didn’t notice when she answered.

  “Hey, Vanti. Where are you?” O’Neill crosses the room to sit on the stool beside my throne.

  “On the Ostelah.” She and I say the words at the same time. I smile smugly, but Vanti grimaces. “Hello, Triana.”

  “Hey, wedding girl!”

  Her shocked expression is everything I could wish for.

  “How—who—Helva!” Vanti turns to look upward. “Did you tell Triana? I will—” The audio cuts off, as if she doesn’t want us to hear her threatening the AI. She yells silently for a long time. Vanti has an extensive vocabulary of swear words, so I suspect Helva is getting an earful. Or a speakerful. Although, she probably knows all of them, too.

  Vanti winds down and turns to face us again, and the audio clicks back on. “What’s up, Griz?”

  “That’s it? We’re just going to pretend you aren’t getting married?” He shoots a wicked smirk at me.

  “Yes, we are. Since I didn’t share the information myself, I refuse to acknowledge it. What can I help you with?”

  I lean over the chair arm so she can see me. “We’re stuck in a time loop. We need your help to get out. Or at least to deliver pizza.”

  “Ooh, a time loop!” Helva squeals. “Like in the ‘Once Again my Friend’ episode of Star Travelers?”

  “Yes, but with less blaster fire.” I rub my side. “And more hunger. About that pizza…”

  “Where are you? My system isn’t able to track your location.” Helva sounds put out.

  “We’re in a Sprzężaj safe compartment.” I grin at O’Neill. “Someone committed a crime.”

  “I punched a guy. He called my wife fat!” O’Neill touches his swollen knuckles and flinches.

  “That’s so romantic!” Helva gushes and sighs. “I wish I had a man to fight for me.”

  “No, you don’t, Helva.” Vanti glares at the ceiling again. “You are a strong⁠—”

  “I’m not using Helva anymore.” The AI interrupts her. “I’m trying on a new name. Ursula.”

  “Ursula?” We all repeat the name at the same time.

  “Isn’t it romantic? And I’ve decided I should be more transparent. Or maybe less transparent.” She giggles, and a cloud of sparkles appear beside Vanti’s shoulder, coalescing into the blonde bombshell. Except this time, she’s wearing black like Vanti, but with more cleavage, and she has a blade clenched in her teeth. She removes the knife and tosses it, catching it by the hilt and stabbing it into her hair.

  Vanti gives her the side-eye. “That’s a great idea, Helva. I mean Ursula. But you just impaled your own brain.”

  Ursula laughs and pulls the knife from her hair. Blood drips down the blade onto her shoulder. “Oops.” Then the knife and blood disappear. “Sorry.”

  I wave a hand in front of their faces. “Can we get back to the time loop? And the pizza?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  We don’t escape the Księżna’s safe room. And I don’t get my pizza. I find a deck of cards hidden in the arm of the throne, and O’Neill and I spend the evening playing Castinisa and Go Fish and eating the entire contents of the mini-fridge. Except the pickled herring.

  Eventually, I drop off to sleep and wake up on the floor of our compartment.

  O’Neill groans and mutters something. I lever myself up and squint over the top of the bed. “What’s wrong?” The faint light from the bathroom nightlight only lets me see his outline.

  “My hand is killing me.”

  I manage to get to my feet and grab a ScanNSeal from the bathroom. They were designed as first aid for military personnel or explorers, but I convinced Vanti to find me one, just in case. Turns out, it has been handy on more than one occasion.

  As I wrap the thing around his arm, the light from the screen falls on his hand—the swelling has gotten worse. “No wonder it hurts.” I press the “start” icon, and the device starts humming.

  “Here’s something I don’t understand.” I sit beside him on the bed. “Your finger is broken, so clearly our physical bodies are being transported to the start of the time loop each day. So, why do I keep waking up on the floor?” I stab a finger at him. “And if you’re awake, why don’t you catch me before I fall out of bed?”

  The Scan’n’Seal’s gentle, calm voice prevents him from having to answer. “The patient has sustained a broken finger and minor bacterial infection.”

  “Where did he get the infection?”

  The device doesn’t answer. Probably because it isn’t voice activated. I punch my query into the screen, and it scrolls a long list of possible causes.

  “I probably got it from that IR guy. What was his name—Crandil?” O’Neill groans again as he pushes himself to a sitting position and looks at his battered hand. “Off his face.”

  The ScanNSeal pings again. “Nanobots deployed. Please allow several hours for treatment. Healing can be accelerated by use of a med pod.”

  “That sounds good.” He swivels to put his feet on the floor. “Don Said isn’t going to take no for an answer. Again.”

  “It’s not like he remembers yesterday. Let’s go off-grid again.”

  “Don’t you want to get out of this loop? We need to figure out what the counter is counting. Or find the trigger.”

  “True. But sitting in a meeting with Don Said isn’t going to make that happen.” I grab a shirt and some loose pants and bring them to the bed. “Do you need help getting these on?”

  “I think I can manage. No, wait, hold the pants for me.”

  “House, schedule a session for Ser O’Neill in the med pod on Level 82.” I help him slide the stretchy waistband up his sexy legs which is a distracting task.

  The house pings but doesn’t respond.

  I straighten up. “That’s weird. Why isn’t the house… House OS, what’s the date?”

  Another ping, but no response. Mystified, I flick my holo-ring and pull up the interface. “It’s set to silent. How did that happen? And why is it different again?”

  O’Neill slides his shirt over his beautiful abs and tugs it down to his hips. “I don’t know. Is that a clue to the trigger?”

  As I swipe through screens, I try to order my thoughts. “I have no idea. I’m thinking this confirms we’re not the only people in this loop. Someone is playing with the OS.” I try pulling up logs, but nothing unusual shows. No unauthorized access. No strange hooks.

  He guides me into the living room where the uncomfortable couch waits. It’s like the Ice Dame herself is laughing at me. “You can’t escape my grasp!”

  “What?” O’Neill pauses by the AutoKich’n.

  “Nothing. Go get your hand fixed. I can make my own breakfast.”

  He gives me a swift kiss then heads out the door.

  I pat my stomach. “Dr. Tsuyoshi is going to be so surprised by our due date when we get this thing fixed. And we will get it fixed. I’m not raising my family in a time loop!”

  I send a message to my mother, telling her I quit, and I’ll contact her when I’m ready. Then I block her calls. When Internal Relocations shows up to take the Ice Dame’s furniture, I send them away. After they’ve left, I check the listings—our belongings are listed under Moore this time around. Is the time loop itself messing with me?

  One of my more illegal programs is a search function that allows me to describe a person—or thing—and have it located. I describe the man I saw at Stella Moya and set the thing running. A vague description will take much longer than matching an image, but it’s the best I can⁠—

  Ping!

  “That was way too fast.” I flick the notification, and my program shows me the man is in the concourse on Level 80. His description must be as unique on SK2 as I’d supposed.

  I pull up the cams and swipe through them until I locate him. He’s standing outside the NanoMart as if he’s waiting for someone. Well, today that someone is going to be me. I jump up—or my current version of that which involves way more effort than I’d like—and head out the door.

  When I reach the concourse, the gray-haired man still stands beside the weird convenience store. He catches my eye, then turns and heads toward the door.

  “Wait!” I yell.

  Heads swivel my direction—all of them except his. And everyone keeps staring. I look down at myself. After getting O’Neill into his clothes, I neglected to don my own. “What?” I yell at the concourse in general. “You’ve never seen a pregnant woman in unicorn jammies and bunny slippers before?”

  The heads snap away from me like a machine, although I catch a few sideways glances as I shuffle across the space toward the NanoMart.

  The weird store looks identical to last time—same hologram lady, same long robe and sandals, same backdrops. Ignoring her sales spiel, I stretch out my hands and walk toward the bubbling stream. My hands slide into the hologram and disappear.

  “Please step away from the projection.” The hologram glides across the room to my side.

  When I keep moving, the voice changes, going higher with a tinge of panic. “Wait! You mustn’t leave your assigned salon!”

  I stop. “Are you a real person?”

  “What is real?” The calm voice is back, and the hologram tilts her head and puts her chin on her fist.

  “Cut the zark. I want to talk to the human.” I take another step forward, and my arms disappear up to my elbows.

  “Please, don’t intrude on other shoppers’ experiences!” the anxious voice says.

  “Come out here where I can see you, or I keep going.” I shuffle my left bunny slipper into the stream.

  “Fine!” The mountains ripple, and a woman in a plain green jumper steps through. “I will help you, sera. But please, step back. Your disembodied hands are disturbing to my other customer.”

  With a snicker, I wiggle my fingers at whoever is over there, then step back. “I want to talk to him.”

  “Him?” She pulls her head back and gives me a sideways look. “Who?”

  I point at the meadow and take a step toward the hidden barrier again. “Him. The guy who came in here ahead of me.”

  “Let her through.” The gray-haired man’s disembodied face appears above the burbling stream.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, she’s why I’m here.”

  The saleswoman glowers. “This is not a meeting space; it’s a store. If you want to chat with someone, try a coffee shop. Or a conference room.”

  “I need somewhere secure.” The face starts to fade into the trees “behind” the meadow. “Somewhere I’m not being watched.”

  I snort. “You came to the wrong station, then. This place is locked down tighter than a drum. Except the Sanctuary, and they frown on meetings, too.”

  “Look, could you please go somewhere else?” The green-clad employee touches my arm. “You’re clogging up two of my three virtual spaces. My employers will cut my pay if I don’t meet my quotas for the day!”

  Having worked a low-paid support job myself, I’m sympathetic to a point. Although since she’s working on Level 80, her base pay is likely pretty high. “How much?”

  “For what?” She gestures, and an avalanche of product holograms pours over the virtual background, completely obscuring it. Clothing, sporting gear, grooming devices, and cooking equipment slide down the “walls” in a never-ending waterfall of consumer goods. Is that a speed boat?

  With a violent head shake, I pull my mesmerized gaze from the display and focus on the woman. “I don’t want to buy anything. How much do you earn?”

  She tells me, and my eyes go wide. “That little? Up here?” At her emphatic nod, I flick my holo-ring and swipe a giant tip to her. “Is that enough to cover our visit?”

  “I—thank you. That’s enough to cover a week. Take all the time you need!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  As the saleswoman starts to back away, I grab her arm. “Where’s your rear exit?”

  She gestures toward the front door, currently hidden behind a bamboo forest. “We don’t have one. We go out the front.”

  “Then where are you going?” I point toward ocean waves washing across the back of the room.

  She glances over her shoulder. “The store control room. Slash break room. Slash everything.”

  “Is there a maintenance access?” I stick my arm through the bright red blender sliding down a wall of workout equipment and make a “come here” motion at my quarry in the next salon.

  “No.”

  I’ll bet there’s a way to access the Sprzężaj “below,” but I don’t have time to look for it. I stop. Actually, I have all the time in the world. Glancing at my stomach, I amend that thought. I have a few months, tops.

  The gray-haired man steps through a wall of women’s clothing, appearing for a second to be wearing a flowing gown with a high collar, plunging neckline, and bell-like sleeves. He looks like the wizard-queen from one of my least favorite fantasy vids, Enchanted Forest. Without the flowing raven locks, of course.

  “Hi. I’m Triana. Who are you?”

  He darts a glance at the woman. “You can call me Boyar.”

  I hand him the PVD I found in my sock drawer. It’s one I got from the Księżna in exchange for an invite to my wedding. “Squeeze twice and tuck it into your pocket.”

  He rolls the capsule in his fingers, then with a shrug squashes it two times. His hair fills out and lengthens to a gray-streaked bob. His thin cheeks remain sunken, but his cheek bones rise, and his lashes darken. His clothing changes color, from a pale, natural-looking weave to a shinier, more synthetic fabric. And his sandals disappear behind solid-looking boots.

 

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