The Recovered Journal of Birgitte Skovgaard
EPILOGUE
Revolution or not, books still needed to be scanned. Tools needed to be checked out. The neighborhood needed movies, and music, and freeze-dried food, and Maya had files to organize.
She’d propped the warehouse door open to let in the cool autumn breeze. The oppressive heat had finally broken, and the wind whipped dead leaves past the door. Rain was coming tonight, maybe even a thunderstorm—the kind that shook the whole warehouse.
Maya would be snuggled up with Gray, cozy and warm in the bed he shared with her more nights than not. She turned her brand-new ring around on her finger as she considered that, a slow smile tilting her lips.
Later.
She finished uploading Rowan’s remastered files to their shared server and pulled up her new digital to-do list. Savitri had been the one to suggest it, pointing out that just because her brain could do something didn’t mean she should waste precious mental resources on it. Maya hated to admit it, but dumping her task list onto a tablet had helped clear her head.
Plus, crossing things off was extremely satisfying.
“Marjorie?”
The name felt so out of place here, it took a moment for Maya to understand the once-familiar sound. She glanced up and found the speaker hovering just inside the open warehouse door.
She was tall and thin, with a cascade of curly hair dyed electric blue braided back from her face and tumbling down her back. Dark lipstick and thick winged eyeliner stood out dramatically against her pale skin, and her clothes were the height of punk-chic fashion up on the hill.
But her arm was the show-stealer—her asymmetrical top was cut to show off the full prosthetic, composed of shiny chrome at the shoulder and wrist. The space in between glowed softly—a moving, full-length LED tattoo sleeve. An ethereal mermaid framed by a sunset, her dark hair floating on an invisible wind. Beneath her, the waves broke against her rock, the surf churning in ever-changing teals and greens and midnight blue.
The skill involved with creating such a thing was breathtaking. Not just science but art, and it took hearing her name—her old name—a second time to drag her attention back to the woman’s unfamiliar face. “I’m sorry, I don’t…”
Her memory caught up a moment later. The face had thrown her, but she knew that voice. “Diana?”
A gentle smile curved the woman’s lips, and even if the face had changed, that smile hadn’t. Neither had the mischievous spark in her eyes. “Hey, Starborn.”
Shock held Maya in place as the stranger with Diana’s voice approached the wide counter. If Maya had been the brains of Birgitte’s rebellion, Diana Cameron had been its gleefully dirty hands. Birgitte would have denied having a fixer, but that was exactly what Diana had been. She dabbled in forgery, dipped her toe into larceny, navigated the black market with ease, and cheerfully laundered TechCorps cash into clean credits.
She’d vanished in the month before Birgitte’s death. Maya had always assumed Richter had gotten to her, too.
Diana stopped on the other side of the counter, both hands resting lightly on the surface as she studied Maya. “God, you’re all grown up now, aren’t you?”
“Time does that.” Maya tilted her head, taking in the green eyes—probably contacts—pointed chin, and more prominent cheekbones. “So … I got older, and you got a new face.”
That won her another cheerful grin that was pure Diana. “It seemed prudent, all things considered.”
No doubt it had. Tobias Richter would have done damn near anything to get his hands on the woman who had helped Birgitte fake deaths, embezzle funds, and pay for sedition. And unlike with Maya, Richter wouldn’t have been forced to avoid carving pieces off Diana until he got what he wanted. “I looked for you after I got free.”
“I was long gone. That was my deal with Birgitte.” Diana dipped a hand into the bag slung across her shoulder and withdrew a bulky envelope. “To leave Atlanta and not come back until Tobias Richter was dead.”
Maya glanced down at the envelope. It was ragged around the edges but had clearly once been one of the standard white envelopes meant for internal printouts, one of the thousands available in every storage closet in HQ but rarely used in a mostly digital world. This one had her name written across the front in Birgitte’s crisp penmanship, the ink faded but still sharp.
A chill claimed her. “What is it?”
Diana pushed the envelope across the counter. “There were things Birgitte wanted you to know if she didn’t survive to tell you herself. But she made me promise not to bring this to you unless there was absolutely no chance Richter could find it.”
Hesitantly, Maya touched the package. It was thick across the middle, like someone had placed a small book inside. A diary, maybe? She’d never known Birgitte to write in one—but Birgitte had been far too paranoid to put her private thoughts down in a digital format. Maya had been the receptacle of her secrets.
Maybe this was where she’d kept her secrets about Maya.
Diana cleared her throat. “Anyway, Starborn, I can’t stay long, even with my new face. I still have enemies in this town. But here.” She slid over a scrap of paper with an IP address scrawled across it. “If you need me.”
“Thank you, Diana.” Maya folded her fingers around the paper. “And I’m glad you’re okay.”
“You, too, kiddo.” Diana gave the envelope one last tap, an odd glint in her eye. “You’d best look at it soon. Birgitte left you more than you realize.”
“I will.”
Diana gave a two-fingered salute and pivoted toward the exit. Maya watched her go before she dropped her gaze to the envelope.
Birgitte’s handwriting was a punch to the gut. Even now, with the demons of her past dead and buried and her focus turned toward finishing the revolution Birgitte had started …
Maya had been a child drafted into a war she didn’t understand by a woman who had no doubt hated herself for it but had done it anyway.
Did she want to know whatever secrets this envelope contained? Secrets so terrible, Birgitte had been willing to let them vanish forever rather than fall into Tobias Richter’s hands?
Put that way, could Maya afford not to know them?
Taking a deep breath, she ripped open the envelope. A thin leather journal spilled out onto the counter, along with a dozen credit sticks and another envelope marked Last Will and Testament of Birgitte Skovgaard.
Ignoring the second envelope, Maya carefully unbuckled the journal and opened to the page marked by a thin, black ribbon. Birgitte’s clean, sure strokes marked the date at the top—June 1st of 2069.
I met my data courier today. If hell exists, I’ve surely secured my spot there for agreeing to this.
The girl is all of seven years old and already fluent in six languages. She’s studying astronomy and just started integral calculus. The scientists are excited. Few of their subjects have adapted to the procedure as well as DC-031 …
Gray came in, rubbing the top of his head. He did it almost habitually now, running his hand over the short but growing stubble on his scalp. “Ready for a break, sweetheart?”
“Yes.” She slapped the journal shut and shoved it away. “Way past ready.”