He thought the number was too high and also contradicted a promise Grandfather Max made him and Connor when they were teenagers. Max insisted they take the new drug that promised to halt the Chancellors’ demise.

  “Doc, I’ve been receiving regular shots of Verita 460 since I was eighteen. I was told it would prevent anything like this from being passed down if I had children.”

  She nodded in that I’ve-heard-it-all-before style.

  “VT 460 is a miracle. Unfortunately, many Chancellors don’t understand what it actually does. You were born before the drug was released. That means you inherited your parents’ genetic collapse. VT 460 smooths out the rough edges, so to speak, but it’s not a cure. Your children and their children will have to take it every year so long as they live. In time, it will reverse engineer centuries of biological modifications.”

  That night, after they went back and forth until agreeing to continue the pregnancy, Trevor said:

  “The irony is I never wanted children before you. Connor wore me out when we were kids. I couldn’t imagine doing it again.”

  “You’ll change your mind the first time you hold her.”

  She was right, of course. Like in most things.

  He said a silent prayer when the nurse handed over Ana Marie.

  “You’ll be perfect, my sweet girl. You’ll have everything your mother gave you and fight off the rest.”

  If only.

  Effie never voiced regret, never assigned blame, never admitted that she turned to another man because of it. Trevor assumed.

  Those years whizzed past as he waited for the train, raced onboard, and began another countdown. ‘Wit’s end’ described Trevor as he reentered Harmony Sector.

  “Announcement. Now arriving: Harmony Midvale. Please stand clear until the doors have opened in full.”

  He did not wait that long. Observers must have feared a station-wide emergency given Trevor’s panic. He broke speed regs on the public rifter, traveling two-thirds the length of Harmony.

  The sector seemed brighter, cleaner, more energetic than Haven. The gardens were bigger and more lush and the Swiftraks wider. Facilities for the Interstellar Congress and Office of the President rose like pyramidal beacons. The spaceport spread out above it all, the largest of its kind in the Collectorate.

  Yet Trevor focused solely on the tiny, oblong structure between the IC complex and the Amity Housing Authority. They brought Ana here for every seizure; his grandfather’s ghost welcomed him.

  Vanover Medical Center and Research Institute.

  It wasn’t the only place where Maximillian Vanover ensured his immortality, but it was the most prominent. The old man died a week after the renaming ceremony. Got his glory, Trevor thought at the time. That’s all he ever wanted.

  Trevor met his wife in Orange Wing: Neurology. Effans Labroque waited outside their daughter’s room. She wore a casual one-piece tunic, far from the business formal that Trevor might have expected this time of day.

  “What’s happening?”

  Effie blocked the door.

  “They’re finishing a phasic scan.”

  “What? They’re still running it? Forster’s usually done in five ...”

  “It’s not Forster. She’s off-station. It’s Beryl Sim.”

  “The hell? That guy shouldn’t be anywhere near our daughter.”

  He grabbed Effie and prepared to push her aside.

  “Trevor, I know how you feel about him. He misspoke that one time. You need to let it go.”

  “Not where Ana Marie is concerned. Please, Eff. I’m the only one who can soothe her pain.”

  Effie did not resist.

  “That’s why I called you, Trev.” She pressed the entry pad. “Please, be respectful. He’s doing his job.”

  So he claimed. They all did, even when they added a simple caveat: We can’t do anything but let this play out and keep her comfortable during seizures.

  Not good enough!

  Trevor checked his frustration at the door, but it quickly reemerged when he saw the phasic stabilizer surrounding Ana’s bed. The metallic hologram was barely translucent enough to see a human inside. A crawler arm hovered above the stabilizer field, emitting a blue beam that crept over his daughter.

  “That’s enough,” he said, modulating his tone. No sense pissing off the doctor straightaway. “Drop the field.”

  Sim, whose burnt red hair and ample freckles never sat right with Trevor, raised his hands in a double stop sign.

  “Deputy Stallion, we won’t be much longer, I promise. We need all the data possible for Ana’s long-term prospects. For others like her, also.”

  “I don’t care about the long term. She’s in pain now. She needs me now.”

  Trevor moved toward the phasic control box, but Sim’s nurse blocked him. Trevor, eight inches taller than either man, swerved around to confront Sim just as the door closed behind Effie. Show respect, her eyes begged. Another word for restraint.

  OK. I’ll give him one chance.

  “Have the shudders lessened?”

  “Not yet. I fear it may be another two to three hours.” Sim pointed to the holographic data spread along the stabilizer shield. “I have her on three hundred milligrams of Seraphed. The usual dose. Any more and ...”

  “I know the risk. You’re going to shut this down and allow me to do it my way. Doctor.”

  Sim did not possess Forster’s sunny bedside manner. He was a technocrat, and Trevor knew how to deal with such people. When Sim said he needed the data stream, Trevor laid his ample right hand on the man’s shoulder and tempered his tone.

  “If I let go, I’m going to ball those fingers together. Three seconds later, you will be asleep on the floor. Tell the nurse to shut it down, or both of you are going to take a nap. Clear?”

  “Trev, please don’t ...” Effie stepped in.

  “I got this, Eff. Make a decision, Doc.”

  Trevor knew Sim had every right to contact Harmony Sec Admin and report the threat. He also knew Sim had his own needle to thread, having built a checkered reputation during his rotation.

  “Henri,” Sim said. “Shut it down.”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  Trevor backed away.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re making a mistake, Deputy. This thing you do has no impact on the larger problem. Forster said ...”

  “Forster isn’t here. I know how to help my daughter better than any of you.”

  Effie backed away but offered Trevor a supportive nod. He took a deep breath and braced himself for the sight that tore at his heart.

  Ana lay flat on her back, limbs jerking and twitching, held down by straps. Her eyes rolled back in her head; her tongue poked in and out as if lapping up invisible water; sweat rolled down the sides of her mocha face. Ana’s deep brown curls, similar to her mother’s, were wet and tangled. She moaned like a wounded animal.

  Trevor unfastened the straps.

  “I’m here, sweetheart. Papa’s here.”

  He climbed onto the bed and gently pushed his left arm under her back while holding her knees close to each other with his right. Trevor ordered the nurse to raise the head of the bed to forty-five degrees. When the man hesitated, Sim gave him the green light.

  Trevor maneuvered the little girl’s body until she rested on top of him. He brought his knees forward and shifted carefully to his side until he wrapped Ana in an awkward sort of shelter. All the while, her elbows poked him in the gut.

  “OK, sweetheart. Listen to Papa. Can you hear me?”

  He didn’t expect an answer at the beginning but knew it would be yes, if she could speak. Every doctor had tried to stop him – even Forster didn’t believe Trevor’s strategy would work. Nor could they explain his success.

  “I read,” he once told Forster in a condescending tone. He took that knowledge – specifically, that disruptive neurofascitis began its assault on the body at the intersection between the brain stem and the spinal cord – and applied it to his daughter.

  Trevor pushed her hair out of the way and arrayed three left fingers to land at the precise location he believed the shudders could be controlled. He pressed his forefinger and middle finger inward as hard as he could to either side of cervical vertebrae 1C and his thumb on top of vertebrae 3C.

  His right hand wrapped beneath and around her belly, and his legs acted as a new set of restraints to her kicking limbs. He’d have a few small bruises later.

  “Sweetheart, listen to Papa. You want to sing along with me? It’s your favorite song. OK? Join me whenever you’re ready.”

  Trevor closed his eyes and gave all of himself to his life’s most beautiful gift. What choice did he have? Her nightmare was his fault, after all. He’d never forgive himself for doing less.

  “Have you seen the stars tonight?” He sang off-key. “They’re so big and ever bright. Have you seen the stars tonight?”

  He repeated both verses ten times. It was her favorite, the first song she learned. He sang it at bedtime by request, which was more often than not in the first years. After she turned four, Ana varied her musical tastes. Sometimes, she asked him to read. Other times, to tell her stories of growing up on a planet.

  You don’t deserve this.

  Those words never crossed his lips – not in her presence. But the guilt lingered and consumed. Yes, the VT 460 would ensure an end to the seizures in a few years, but at what cost? Already, the doctors expressed concerns about her long-term joint stability. They worried how she would fare in a terrestrial environment with a higher gravity. Studies done on earlier victims of DF were not promising.

  After he finished the first song, Trevor rocked Ana until her moans faded to be replaced by calm, steady respiration. The shudders slowed but only by a negligible pace.

  Forster said from the beginning that the seizures could not be predicted, and studies showed no link to a child’s emotional state. Yet Trevor couldn’t help but remember last night. The wild, desperate look in her eyes when he tried to explain how the rules of his job forced him to move to Haven Sector. How the transfer was only temporary and that they’d see each other every day, even if on holo.

  Her rage caught both him and Effie off-guard. In a practical sense, little would change in their schedules or time together, but Ana wouldn’t hear it.

  “She doesn’t know change,” Effie said. “Her world has always been small and safe and consistent. Give her time, Trevor. Perhaps she needs to go through this to see it isn’t so terrible after all.”

  Wise words. Now, Trevor thought they were premature. Reckless, even. Yet he’d bought into them.

  He rocked Ana, never lessening his three-fingered offensive.

  “I’m sorry I had to go away, sweetheart. But I’m here now. I won’t leave. I’ll never leave. Do you hear me?”

  In time, the shudders subsided. Trevor opened his eyes. Effie sat on the edge of the bed massaging Ana’s hands. For a moment there, he felt love like they shared in the beginning.

  Trevor wasn’t naïve. Whatever they shared eroded long ago. Maybe Effie still didn’t blame him, but now he was a salve for their daughter. Little more.

  “Thirsty.”

  Ana’s first word came as no surprise.

  Trevor didn’t let go, but Effie’s smile said enough: The eyes had stabilized. The tremors in her joints lessened to a manageable tenor. The seizure was nearing an end, less than an hour after he arrived. The damage done couldn’t be quantified yet, but the pain would end. Nothing else mattered.

  “You’re here, Papa.”

  “For my sweetheart? Always. Just lay still a few more minutes, and this will pass. OK?”

  “OK. Can I get water, Mama?”

  The nurse provided a cup with a straw.

  “Here you go,” he said. “Drink slowly. There’s plenty more.”

  Doc Sim observed from the foot of the bed. His stoic features gave away nothing. Trevor didn’t blame the man for not lavishing praise or suggesting Trevor’s technique should be used on other such patients. In fact, there was no hard evidence Ana’s condition lessened any faster in her father’s arms, or that he reduced the potential for long-term physical issues.

  Trevor knew only that his daughter’s pain was fading for now. What the hell else mattered?

  After Ana drank the cup dry, she asked the only question he dreaded:

  “Papa, are you coming back home today?”

  He saw terror in Effie’s eyes. Just when all was well again ...

  Trevor learned from his wife the diplomat.

  “We are going to spend so much time together, sweetheart. When I’m not at work, you won’t be able to get rid of me. Sound good to you?”

  Ana forced her smile through what had to be numbing pain.

  “Sounds great, Papa.”

  After the seizure ended, Sim gave Ana an elevated dose of Seraphed to induce a necessary sleep and help the body recover. She’d be out for nine to ten hours.

  Exhausted, Trevor met the doctor outside Ana’s room.

  “Look, I’m sorry about the way I entered. The threat. I hope you’ll look past it. I’m not rational where my daughter is concerned.”

  Sim’s features softened.

  “You’re not the first irrational father I’ve encountered. Nor will you be the last. For the record, Deputy, I acceded to you because Forster left instructions to that effect if there was an episode. You may not believe your method put Ana Marie’s health in danger, but I do.”

  Sim did not threaten to go over Forster or report him to HSA. Rather, Sim walked away without further comment. Trevor accepted the small victory and reentered the room, where he stood beside Effie and watched their daughter sleep.

  “They don’t believe I make a difference.”

  “I do, Trevor. You’ve always gotten through to her in ways I couldn’t. I will always love you for that.”

  He almost thanked her for the consolation. If only he knew for sure where it all went wrong.

  “I’m going to ask for an exemption, Eff.”

  “We’ve been through this. They won’t grant it. They’ll say if they make an exception for you, then the Charter itself is worthless.”

  “Yep. That’s what they’ll say. So, I’ll do every damn thing I can to pull at their heartstrings. This isn’t about me. It’s about her.”

  Effie sighed. “Or we could move into your Admin flat with you. It would be a little tight. You wouldn’t be able to live with Connor anymore, but that was always a strange choice. Trevor, I ...”

  “That’s not a serious plan. You’ll be miserable.”

  Her reply hit him like another dagger.

  16

  YOU’RE RIGHT, TREV. I’M NOT going to leave Harmony. And I’m not going to share a bed with you again. You will always be her father, but ...”

  “Go ahead, Eff. Say it.”

  She stared into his eyes like the first time. Or so he thought.

  “I used to imagine us growing old together. Now, the very idea turns me cold. I can’t explain why. Trevor, I still love you, but only as the man who gave me Ana Marie.”

  Trevor wouldn’t have felt worse if a wall tumbled on top of him.

  “Which means ... what?”

  “Nothing for now. But Ana needs to know things are changing. She needs to be prepared to hear the worst someday. If you move back in with us and try to act like we’re a normal family again, she’ll retreat into the same fantasy that led to today.”

  Now she’d gone too far.

  “You’re blaming this episode on me? For leaving?”

  “She was fine for four months. If you had acquiesced to the ambassador’s demands like I pleaded, Central never would have forced you out.”

  No. He wasn’t going to do this again. Damn sure not at his daughter’s bedside.

  “Sure. Lay it all at my feet. I probably deserve it.”

  “Trevor, I’m sorry. I didn’t ...”

  “Leave, Effie. Just go home and freshen up. Get a bite to eat. I’ll stay with Ana for a while in case she wakes up.”

  “Doc Sim says she’ll be out for hours.”

  He replied with a you-think-I-give-a-shit glare. It did the trick. She wiped away the water congesting in her eyes.

  “One hour, Trev. I’ll be back in one hour.”

  “Give me five minutes notice, and I won’t be here.”

  She made no promises. Trevor didn’t care; he pulled up a chair and shifted his gaze to the most beautiful girl on Amity.

  His plan, like so many, didn’t succeed for long.

  “She needs to be prepared to hear the worst someday.”

  Effie’s words. He knew the implication, but his paranoia took it one step further. How much longer before his wife moved on from the DRC? Decided to resettle on Mauritania? Took their daughter to start a new life with Reginald Endowi?

  He said it a hundred times over the next hour:

  “I will never leave you, sweetheart.”

  The voice in the deep of his conscience, the one often telling him to slow down and take a deep breath, now warned him against rash behavior. He already compromised his job. What if he had hit Sim?

  She was right. All you had to do was make a public apology. That asshole wouldn’t have called for your job. You are going to stubborn your way off the station. They’ll take Ana Marie. Slow down, Trevor. Slow the fuck down.

  Two hours later, Effie gave him a heads-up. Trevor kissed Ana goodnight and all but stumbled toward the public docks. He was about to select a rifter when his wrist plate dinged.

  He tapped the comm.

  “Are you free to speak?” Hoshi asked.

  “Yes, I’m good.”

  “Your daughter?”

  “Better. What is it, Hoshi?”

  He expanded her holo.

  “I wasn’t sure when you’d be available, but I thought you should know. The toxical came back.”

  Right. The case. He didn’t think about it once.

  “Ah. That. Has Dorrit ordered the case closed?”

  She forced a smile.

  “Actually, just the opposite.”

  That was unexpected.

  “Talk to me.”