And this is why I was created.
The transmission ended. Esther allowed her smile to spread. She’d fooled them all. She spun with relish, only for her stomach to lurch.
Webb stood behind her with an ashen face. Had his face been broadcast that way? If Webb gave her away, it would take years to repair the damage and renegotiate.
Esther snapped her fingers under Webb’s nose. His eyes flinched. She strode down the hall into a private conference room, and he followed.
When the door closed, Esther whirled on him.
“If you betray me, you doom thousands of our people to death.”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t say anything.”
But his lips had gone from pink to pale. He needed to breathe. Esther grabbed a handheld projector from the small table in the center of the room. Her crew had used these to project her miniature 3-D image all over the ship. Now she shoved its reflective surface within centimeters of Webb’s nose.
“Look at yourself!”
He focused on his reflection and blanched.
“I know you just lost someone you love,” Esther said.
“You aren’t her.”
“I know that. You know that. And I don’t expect you to love me—”
“Do you love me?”
Esther faltered. Did she? No, of course not. But she should, shouldn’t she? If she was truly identical to her host, she should. But there was no time for this.
Webb inched back from her like a caged animal.
“What the two of you had,” Esther said, “is between you two. I am not here to live her intimate life. I’m here to save our people.”
Webb swallowed.
“Can you join me in that?” Esther extended her hand.
Webb stared at it for a second. He pressed his back against the wall and shook his head.
“I can’t. I’d planned . . . but I can’t—”
“Brandon!”
Esther used his common name and her sternest voice. It’s what her host would have done, and it jolted Webb. He held his stomach as if he’d been punched.
“Remember what she always told you,” she said.
Webb’s ice-blue eyes flashed. “‘Finish what you start.’”
“Then let’s finish this.”
The fog lifted from his face. Webb nodded, determined now. He extended his hand. When his hand touched hers, a tingling ran from her fingertips to her spine. Was that the flutter of attraction? Esther had never touched another person with any kind of tenderness before.
But the handshake ended, and the feeling passed. All that remained was a businesslike exchange. Esther dismissed the feeling and left the room. Webb followed her lead.
It was time to get that antivirus.
Captain Jack Fletcher stomped around the air lock connecting Olive Branch with Taara Makaan’s spaceport. His breath huffed from his flared nose. On a necklace hung his late wife’s wedding ring, and his pocket held a picture drawn by his late grandson. Its edges were yellowed by Fletcher’s fingerprints.
Everyone had lost someone.
“Nice speech,” he said as Esther entered. “How much of it was a lie?”
“All of it, as usual.”
It was what her host would have said, but it tasted like chalk. Esther stared forward and didn’t give Fletcher another look.
“Let’s just get this antivirus,” Fletcher said.
“For the next hour appear to respect me.”
“I can act as well as you can.”
Her cruelty was acid on Esther’s stomach. Fletcher was crotchety, yes, but he’d lost so much. Didn’t that merit him some compassion? Esther hid her thoughts behind her mask.
The air-lock door opened, and seven doctors in hazmat suits greeted them.
“Step onto the scanner, please.” The lead doctor swept his hand toward the round platform.
Esther took a breath and stepped on. If any discrepancy existed between her and her host, she would be exposed. The scanner beeped.
“Carries the latent virus, but not actively infected,” the scanner said in a mechanical voice. “You may proceed forward. Stay with your escorts at all times. Do not enter quarantined areas of Taara Makaan spaceport.”
She’d passed the test. Esther stepped forward into the spaceport’s air lock. The floor, a plastoform substance that repelled germs, sprang beneath her feet. It gave off a warm rubber scent with a hint of lavender. Again, her host left no memory of the smell, even though she’d been here before. Fletcher and Webb followed, each with the same announcement.
Latent virus . . . Not actively infected . . . Stay with your escorts.
The doctors turned on their heels and led the way out of the air lock into a hallway. The end was barred, and only one room stood off to the right. She followed the doctors into the room. When the door closed behind everyone, it sealed with a whirr and a click.
Alarms wailed.
“We’re purging the air,” the lead doctor said.
They’d opened the air lock and hallway to the vacuum of space.
“I’m Doctor Arya.” He bowed instead of shaking their hands. “We’ve taken the liberty of writing up our contract per the agreements.”
Dr. Arya put a projector on the table, and a contract glowed to life above it. Esther scrolled down the document, her finger flicking the air in front of the projection. Her eyes scanned quickly for violations. There.
“We did not agree to surrender the city of Mayapuri.”
The hazmatted figures shifted. Had they hoped she wouldn’t find this? That it would be buried too deeply?
“It’s of religious significance to our people,” Arya said.
“Your people haven’t visited in thirty years,” Esther said. “Whatever religious significance it once held is lost.”
“We haven’t visited because of the virus!” A different doctor said, stepping in front of her superior. “But the city has lost no meaning to us. Our people have mourned and prayed for Mayapuri. Many of our own were stranded there and have since died.”
Dr. Arya held up his hand. She bowed her head and backed behind him.
“This disease has not infected our planet,” he said. “The only reason we researched it was to once again take our pilgrimage of faith. The only reason I and my colleagues expose ourselves to you today is to recover our loss.”
Terraform XII had fought many wars over the prosperous Mayapuri. Now that the virus had given it to them, the chancellor wasn’t willing to give it back.
“It resides on our planet,” Esther said. “Once the virus is eradicated, you may visit again, but it will be owned by us.”
“I see.”
The contract flickered off, and Dr. Arya reached for the projector.
“For Pete’s sake, Admiral Levin!” Fletcher burst out. “Our people are dying! Can’t we spare one city!”
“I have my orders.”
“You don’t have dead family!”
His spit flew. Gross man! In a germ-paranoid culture, no one violated breathing space without permission.
“Not here,” she whispered.
This was disgraceful. His face flushed a splotched red, and his mustache bristled, but Fletcher swallowed his words. Esther could smell his sweat.
Her right hand began to shake, the first symptom of the shakes virus. With repose she clasped it in her left. Her stomach turned over, but she didn’t betray her feelings on her face.
“So, I take it we have not come to an agreement?” she said to Dr. Arya, her voice ice.
“You are correct.”
“I will speak with my chancellor and get back to you.”
“Remember, only those with the latent form of the virus are allowed here.” Arya paused. “I hope you live long enough for us to meet again.”