"These cards aren't officially linked to the investigation of Alister's death." Cristof narrowed his eyes. "And if it turns out they are… well, that wouldn't be my fault."
"Wait — what do you mean by ‘suspended'? Are you working with the lictors or not?" Lars rumbled, looking suspicious.
"I'm working with the lictors and I'm investigating my brother's murder." Cristof turned, his angular frame diminished by Lars’ girth. "But not at the same time."
"Are we going to get into trouble if we help you?"
"I'll try to avoid it. I can't guarantee anything."
The five looked at each other.
"Slag it," Victor said at last. "Alister's his brother. A man has to avenge his brother."
"Yeah."
"You're right."
"I would."
"Works for me."
"He spoke highly of you, you know," Kyle said, turning and taking the cards. The other four crowded around, and they passed the bundle back and forth. "He said you were logical and precise, and if the Council had brains instead of beads, it would have made you decatur, instead of him."
"That's not the impression he gave when he spoke to me," Cristof muttered.
"Really?" Kyle gave the exalted a long look over the bowed heads of his friends. "He told us he was modeling one of his most important programs after you."
Cristof made an angry sound and Taya looked at him, surprised. Kyle blinked, then looked back down at the cards.
"Anyway, if you'll give us some time, we need to skim through the perfs… the perforations, the punches. I have a pretty good idea of what this is, but we'll need to study it a little longer to be sure."
The exalted nodded and turned, stalking off to stand alone at the other end of the room.
Taya waited a moment, then joined him. She wanted to apologize for letting his status on the investigation slip, but the words died on her lips.
Cristof stood with his fists jammed into his coat pockets, his shoulders high and his eyes fixed on the metal dance of the analytical engine's pistons and gears.
He looked so miserable that she reached out and touched his shoulder.
"It would help if you just let yourself cry," she murmured.
He jerked his shoulder away.
"It wouldn't help anything."
"It would help you." She swallowed, her own grief too close for comfort. "You shouldn't hide your feelings. I thought the whole idea was that you didn't want to wear a mask anymore."
His breath hissed as he turned his back more firmly on her.
"I think it's nice that Alister talked about you to his friends," she said, trying one last time to reach him. "He told me about you, too. He said he loved you and that he wished you realized that. And he insisted he was going to talk to you before he talked to the lictors because he couldn't believe you were a terrorist. He said it had to be a mistake."
"Stop defending him," Cristof said, his voice harsh. "You heard what that skinny girl said. Alister was just worming his way into your confidence, the way he always did."
Taya drew back, stung. She'd been making herself sick thinking the same thing, but it was different to hear the words from somebody else.
"You don't know that," she argued, trying to convince herself as much as Cristof. She wiped her face, feeling a tear trickle down cheek. "That's a terrible thing to say. Alistser was charming and kind and sincere."
Cristof turned. She dried her face on her flight-suit sleeve.
"Don't." His voice was severe. "Don't start crying, icarus."
"I can't help it." She sniffed, tears streaming. "I can't believe he's gone. And Octavus, too. I lost two new friends in one day."
"Hey… do you need any help over there?" Lars asked, looking across the room at them. He sounded concerned.
"Just find out what's on the damn cards," Cristof snapped.
Taya swallowed, angry at herself for breaking down in front of strangers. She'd hoped to make it back home before the tears started.
Cristof dug into a pocket and thrust a handkerchief into her hands, then pulled off his glasses. "Spirits! Would you please stop?"
She looked up. Her tears had set him off. Just what she'd been afraid of, back in the bar. She wiped her eyes and handed back his handkerchief. He grabbed it.
"It's wet," he complained.
She gave a half-laugh, half-sob.
"Then you should have started first," she said.
"I have no intention of starting at all!" He sounded angry as he scrubbed at his face.
She tugged the handkerchief out of his hands again and blew her nose in it.
"Grieving's part of being human, you know." She looked up at him and took a shuddering breath, trying to get herself under control. "I bet even exalteds cry when they lose a brother."
He ran his hands over his face, his spectacles dangling from his fingertips, and walked away. Taya pressed her knuckles against her mouth. She'd upset him even more. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks — tears for Alister, for Cristof, and for herself. Ridiculously, she wished Alister were with her so that she could lean on him while she cried. Instead she crouched, her metal feathers scraping the floor as she buried her head in her hands and let her grief wrack her.
A few minutes later Cristof dropped to one knee in front of her. He pushed her hair away from her face. His fingers were cold on her hot forehead.
"Stop crying. Alister wouldn't want you to cry for him."
She looked up, sniffing, and wiped her nose on his handkerchief. He'd put his spectacles back on, although his eyes were red.
"His team knows that. Alister would have appreciated their wake." Cristof wiped a tear off her cheek. He looked weary. "He never had any time for grief."
"Not ever?" Taya asked, ducking her face from his hand and rubbing her eyes.
"I never saw him cry, after our parents’ funeral." Cristof studied her. "That's better."
"No, it's not." She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and looked over his shoulder at the programmers. The five of them were studiously ignoring them. "Do you think he was manipulative?"
"Spirits." Cristof pressed his lips together a moment, then sighed. "What do you mean by manipulative? He liked smart, talented women. It wouldn't surprise me if he said things to impress you. I expect most men do. Is that manipulative or just natural?"
"Thank you." Taya forced a smile. "I didn't… I didn't like the way Emelie talked about him."
"Neither did I." He stood, reached down, paused, and then opened his hand. "Stand up."
She took it, grateful for the contact. His hand was cold but steady, his fingers thinner and harder than his brother's. She let him pull her to her feet.
"Okay." She squeezed his hand, then wiped her face one last time. "I think I'm all right now."
"Good."
She took a moment to adjust her flight suit, shoving his handkerchief into her pocket. Then she straightened her shoulders and walked back to the programmers. He followed.
"Is everything okay?" Kyle asked, giving her a quick glance.
"Yes. Just — just delayed reaction." She bit her lip and looked down at the punch cards lined up on the table. "So, what are they?"
"Well, they're obviously Great Engine cards." Kyle made room for her and Cristof. "You can tell because they're wider and longer than normal cards and made out of tin instead of heavy paper. The numbers on the edge identify the card's order in the program. You've got twenty-five cards out of a deck of a hundred here."
"Is that a lot? A hundred?"
"No. In fact, it's a very small program, for the Engine."
"What good would part of a program do anybody?" Cristof asked, pushing up his glasses as he leaned over the table to study the numbers. "What's the code in front of the number?"
"It tells the operator which program the card belongs to," Victor said. "After you've dropped a box of cards the first time, you realize how important it is to label them correctly."