With simple images and a voice over narration, I tell Cristo the rest of the story. Tell him I worked for Marius for a decade and a half while the infant grew into a child and then into my daughter, Nova Potestas. She was so much more than a prize for my loyalty, and it was for her that I would betray Justin Marius.

I knew who she would grow up to be as if I knew her blueprint, knew that she would grow into a fearless, stubborn, demanding woman who enchanted everyone without ever compromising who she was an inch. What I never anticipated was the influence I would have on who she would grow up to be.

I raised her to ask questions, to spend every waking minute in search of answers, to thirst for knowledge about anything and everything, but more importantly, reality itself, the universe at large as much as her immediate surroundings. From a young age she was troubled. I remember the frown she wore, the corners of her mouth turned down, more often than she smiled. I remember her unease, the crinkle between her eyes when she asked me questions that I couldn't answer and neither could her schoolbooks.

She used to bring home friends to Potestas Tower. I thought they were from school, but with a little prying learned she had met them in the streets of Soliara, orphans like her. It wasn't common since no one was having children anymore, but I think she found each and every orphan in Soliara, and by the time she was ten I had to establish an orphanage in Potestas Tower or have to face her eternal sad doll eyes every time she brought home a new stray. There were twenty or so at any given time, and if statistically speaking that was an amazingly low number, it didn't alleviate the worry that tore at my daughter; she was convinced something about the world she had inherited was very, very wrong.

She was a bright girl and in her adolescence she read every scrap of press that came out of Constellation — from a young age she was obsessed, there were details she could read between the lines that made her blood run cold.

Constellation's highest objective, it said, was to reverse immortality and release the public to the natural cycle of life and death. Yet why had President Marius constructed a second star dial for Constellation's use only? Every few months new opportunities were made to honorary positions in the company, people who didn't actually work there were presented with a gnomon connected to the new star dial, more and more of Justin Marius's closest allies replaced Constellation board members who mysteriously opted to retire — they were going to live forever, why should they retire from a job title that offered unparalleled power in the empire with very limited workload? One board member, named Antonio Solari, died. Millions of Soliari were connected to the original dial, with various licenses for ownership of routers and weapons and to create links and light and food, to build, to invent, to create, and their immortality  depended on that connection too — the stars kept them alive with stellar energy, the way it combines with some access to the origin of life that remains beyond my complete understanding to this day.

From the time she was a child, Nova became obsessed with questioning what would happen if everyone was disconnected from the stars. If President Marius wanted them all to be mortal again, why didn't he just disconnect them all from the star dial?

The pieces didn't add up so she rearranged them until they fit, my genius little girl, the first to puzzle out what Marius was waiting for, and what he meant to do. And it tore her to pieces.

She grew into an unhappy uncertain woman, terrified of the future and always uncertain what to do about it. With her help I was able to piece together too exactly how Marius was able to fortify his power at Constellation. Starting with the puppet strings he pulled to device his election, he ensured he could never be unseated from power by erecting the second dial and determining who would be allowed the newest capabilities. The guardia grew strong, advancing their capabilities with every new discovery Constellation developed, while the people grew weak.

The people's dial was not developed along with the rapid advancements.

To prevent an uprising, routers were disconnected, guns made useless without their star energy, no one could create links, shield themselves — licensing for magic was restricted to only what was necessary to industry. Meanwhile the guardia could execute a revolutionary with the wave of a gnomon and had no one to answer to but Marius.

I tell Cristo, if you can stop President Marius, the world will remember you as the only man who could save us all. But you and I will always remember the little girl who asked her father a question she couldn't find the answer to in any of her schoolbooks. It began as "What would happen if everyone was disconnected?" but over the years became, "What would happen if only some of us were?" and eventually, "What will happen to us?" If it weren't for those questions, maybe I would still be working for Constellation, unlocking the capabilities of the star dial for its president.

I didn't love Nova Dasilva — I didn't know her well enough. The pain of her death faded, believe it or not, and I married Candra Satiri, maybe even loved Candra before that fell apart. I love my daughter. I want to save my daughter from this fate, so I tell Cristo, you need to change the past, but you also need to keep the only things that matter in this present intact, the things we're fighting to save. No matter what happens, no matter what you change, Nova Dasilva needs to die within the next six hours, or my daughter will never be born. Should anything prevent her from dying, I tell him, you and I will lose the most important thing we're working to protect. In short, you need to make sure that Nova Dasilva dies.

Cristo pulls back out of my head again and shakes his, in disagreement as much as to orient himself back into the present. "You're talking about killing her myself?"

"If it should come to that," I say. "Someone is trying to murder her; and once succeeded."

Cristo gives me a thoughtful look, head tilted sideways. "So we're still better than Justin Marius."

"Undoubtedly," I say.

"Did you know Nova Dasilva connected the assassins to the tower's router the night your father died?"

I sigh, although Cristo probably expected a much more dramatic reaction. "No. How did you deduce that?"

"I made you read the router. You were a really stupid kid, Stephen, no offense. Genius, but stupid. It never occurred to you that someone had to have betrayed your father, and you were the only person who could see who it was."

"I never would have believed my own eyes anyways," I say. "Now you understand how crucial it is that you keep that aspect of history intact."

"Her betrayal is something else to worry about. You trusted her, thought she was a good person and loyal to Ilan, so there's a chance she really will help us to stop Justin Marius, especially since I brought her here to show her a future everyone regrets, even Candra, Sera, Cytheria, and many who really believed in what Marius was selling at the time. But on the other hand, if she had a good reason to betray the boss and fight against President Solin's reelection, she may continue to work against us. And at this point I clearly don't have the resources to figure out whether she'll work for us or against us. I figure I'll have to trust her until I don't."

"That's your call," I say. "And there's one more problem. If we succeed, and prevent Justin Marius from becoming company president, he won't bring about Nova's rebirth. You'll have to find a way to bring her back anyway, or make him or his faction do it. And, as we've discussed, if an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared. Marius needs to be taken down and put away. He can't be allowed to run for election a year from now."

One more thing, and he's not being forthcoming, so I prompt. "I doubt your questions about Nova were the only thing you returned to the present for — and if it was, I might have to hurt you."

"No," said Cristo. "I only have a few hours left before the election and the plan needs to be adjusted — drastically. I was supposed to secure the votes of Diana Aemilia, Liao Cytheria, and another two votes by this hour, hora sexta — I'm working on Tony Solari, you didn't think he was important enough but I'm positive Marius got to him. I eliminated Fortunato but I still have to make sure his son's on the right page. Cytheria thinks she knows how she'll react to the situation but it's not a sure thing, and she's the closest I've got to a sure thing. I haven't secured any of them, I have no idea where Milana Nox is or if she's even still alive, and I need a dozen more votes in under six hours, and to double check more voters too. The morning was dedicated to the tougher cases but everything rests on locking those down by now and I've failed."

"This plan was never going to work," I say.

"That's the spirit," says Cristo. "I've been working since before dawn and that's all you have to say? You're ready to pack it in and die?"

"No, but I was an idiot to green light this plan. I have a better one."

"Oh, now you tell me." Cristo shakes his head but then he started to feel hopeful. "What is it?" he asked with a smile.

I open a bottom drawer and rifle through for a file while I say, "Don't grin, you're not going to like this even a little bit."

"I like 'better plans.' I'm on board."

I slam the file down on the table. "You don't know what it is yet. Why do you think it became the contingency plan? It has a flaw. One you might not be able to live with."

"Pop, I woke up this morning and killed a man I never met. I've been lying my ass off all day and just last week I manipulated an old woman into telling me how to kidnap her children so they can be executed in front of her. I've all but agreed to murder Nova Dasilva if somebody else doesn't. Lay it on me."

"You're going to have to eliminate President Gaia Solin."

"You're drunk," says Cristo, and though it's the last thing I ever expected, that makes me smile.

"I'm ninety-nine years sober," I say.