by J. J. Green
If the situation were different, she would simply arrest all the suspects. But she knew the Gens would never accept such draconian action. If she started locking people up without an obvious justification it would be disastrous for the current fragile harmony.
The first three interviews seemed to go smoothly. Cariad asked the suspects about their experiences over the last few months, as if she was conducting a general checkup on the mood and morale of the colony. She also asked about the suspicious injuries that Montfort had reported as well as inquiring about other injuries the suspects had sustained, trying to find out if they had credible explanations. All three interviewees had related believable stories that explained their lesions. Cariad was fairly satisfied that none of them were lying. Also, when the interviews were over, none apparently realized Cariad’s real intention behind her questions. They seemed pleased that their opinions had been sought and their experiences noted.
The next person on her list and the final person she planned to interview that afternoon was Cherry. Cariad had been surprised to see her name on the list. Cherry was the last Gen Cariad would have expected to be a Natural Movement saboteur, but then, she reminded herself, it was possible that none of the people on the list were terrorists.
What was more, Cherry had nearly died during the cave disaster. It was reasonable to expect that she would have been injured. That the woman had survived at all was something of a miracle. Ethan hadn’t returned from his search for other survivors, so no other Gen who had been washed into the ocean had lived to tell the tale. And if Cherry was Ethan’s friend, Cariad strongly doubted she would be allied with the Natural Movement.
On the other hand, Ethan had said that Cherry and Garwin had been having an affair. Garwin’s wife had been a terrorist. Was it too much of a coincidence?
Cariad walked to the door of her borrowed room in the Leader’s offices, opened it, and saw Cherry sitting outside, gazing at her interface as she waited for her interview. Cariad greeted her and invited her in. Cherry gave her a sullen look before standing and following Cariad.
“I’m sorry to take you away from your work,” Cariad said, wondering if that was the reason for the woman’s bad mood. “What is it you do?”
“I’m a farmer,” Cherry replied. Her sun-burnished skin testified to the fact. Her gaze was fixed hard on Cariad as she strode inside the room and sat down.
“I see,” Cariad said. “Your employment status on your record is blank. I’ll have it fixed.”
“You do that,” said Cherry. “Make sure you put my job in the little box. I’d hate my file to be incomplete. Is that it?” She stood up.
“No,” said Cariad. “Of course not. I didn’t ask you to come in to find out what job you do. That would be ridiculous.”
“Would it? So many things around here are ridiculous. I find it hard to tell them apart.”
Cariad paused and regarded the woman, trying to understand why she was so belligerent. Cariad had doubted she was a Natural Movement follower, but Cherry’s hostile attitude was giving her doubts. Had she guessed why she’d been summoned? Was she trying to obscure the truth through acting aggressively?
Cariad decided to adopt a conciliatory attitude and see how Cherry reacted. If her problem was only a general resentment toward Woken she might be mollified. “Things have certainly been difficult ever since Arrival. It’s been a trying time for everyone.”
“But mostly the Gens,” Cherry said.
“I’m not denying it,” Cariad said. Of the three hundred and fifty-two deaths since arriving at Concordia, the Gens made up more than four-fifths of the total. “The Gens have borne the brunt of it.”
Cherry’s resentful attitude faded just a touch at Cariad’s words. “You know Ethan, don’t you?”
“I do,” Cariad replied.
“Have you heard from him? Is he okay?”
“I haven’t heard anything. He didn’t want to stay in touch. As far as I know he’s okay.”
Cherry breathed a huge sigh. “Ethan’s a good person.”
Cariad nodded, her lips pressed tightly together. For some reason, Cherry’s mention of Ethan had brought all Cariad’s worries, fears, and sadness at missing her friend to the surface. Her emotion must have been apparent to Cherry as the resentment in her features faded a little further.
“So why am I here?” Cherry asked.
“I’m interviewing colonists about their experiences. I want to get a handle on how things are going. Find out how people are doing. How have you been since your accident?”
“You mean my near-drowning?” Cariad asked. “Why do you want to know?”
“I just said—”
“No. There’s something else going on here. Why are you really questioning us?”
Cherry’s stare was making Cariad uncomfortable. The interview wasn’t going at all as the others had. She looked down to compose herself.
“Is this something to do with Twyla’s sabotage?” Cherry asked.
Cariad looked up. “What makes you say that?”
“So it was her who did it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t deny it.”
Cariad felt like she was the one being interviewed, or rather interrogated. “Okay, you got me. We’re fairly certain it was Twyla. What do you know about her?”
Cherry had been leaning forward in her chair. She relaxed back into her seat. “Only that she was Garwin’s wife and she taught kindy.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all. I hardly knew her.”
“But… ” Cariad hesitated to disclose that she knew about Cherry’s affair with Garwin, but she figured it didn’t matter now. “I heard that you and Garwin were in a relationship.”
“We were. I started sleeping with him when I was nineteen.”
“You were that young?” Cariad was surprised. Garwin was in his forties.
“Is it that shocking?” Cherry smiled wryly. “You Woken think you’re so smart, don’t you? You don’t know half of what goes on in this colony. I wasn’t the only person Garwin was sleeping with either.”
“But he’s so much older than you,” Cariad said. Woman-to-woman curiosity got the better of her. “Did you know he had other girlfriends? Didn’t you mind?”
“I did know, and I didn’t mind. I was only having fun, the same as he was. He said that Twyla didn’t care and I believed him. Honestly, he didn’t make a big secret of what he was doing. Unlike everything else he did.”
“What did he do?”
“Disappear. For hours sometimes. And he would play people off one another. Everyone thought Garwin was their friend, but everyone knew of someone he didn’t like.”
“You don’t make him sound very nice,” remarked Cariad. Cherry’s story didn’t seem to be adding up. “If he was so fake, why did you stay with him for so long?”
Cherry shrugged. “I’m not one for serious commitments. All that romantic, sentimental stuff isn’t for me. Garwin knew my attitude and he was happy to go along with it. The arrangement suited us both.”
Cariad rubbed her temples. She wasn’t sure where the interview was going. Was Cherry implicating Garwin as a Natural Movement follower? And if she was, was it to deflect suspicion from herself? Cariad decided to force the issue. “What are you telling me? You think Garwin might have been a saboteur too?” It was certainly possible. A terrible thought occurred to Cariad: had Garwin murdered Twyla and made it look like suicide to imply his wife’s guilt and his own innocence?
“What’s wrong?” Cherry asked. “Did I hit a nerve? Garwin is under suspicion, isn’t he? That’s why he’s aboard the Mistral. You’re keeping him in confinement while you figure out if he’s a member of the Natural Movement.”
That was no big secret. Cariad was surprised Cherry wasn’t sure of the fact. “That’s right. We aren’t sure that Garwin is innocent, so it’s interesting to hear what you have to say about him.”
“Well, I regret saying anything
about him now. I don’t think he’s a saboteur. He worked too hard for Gen independence for that to be true. He just isn’t very trustworthy.”
“Okay,” Cariad said. They were back to square one. It was no good, Cariad realized. Cherry was too smart to fool with subtle questioning. Cariad had no choice but to ask her outright what she needed to know. “Cherry, I have to ask you how you came by the abrasion on your hip.”
“That scrape Dr. Montfort was so interested in? Is that the real reason why he wanted to examine everyone? He was looking for something that might link us to the Natural Movement?”
“Look, I can’t tell you anything about that,” Cariad replied. “Could you please answer my question?”
“No, I can’t.”
“Why? You were being very frank a moment ago.”
Cherry said, “I’m not being evasive. I can’t tell you how I hurt my hip because I don’t remember. I’m covered in cuts and bruises from that fall from the cave and I don’t know how I got any of them. I was kind of preoccupied at the time.”
“Okay. That makes sense.” Cariad felt deflated. She’d started the afternoon full of anticipation that she might make significant progress in the Natural Movement investigation but after interviewing four suspects she didn’t feel she’d learned anything useful. Maybe she just wasn’t cut out for the job. She was a scientist, not a detective.
“I think that’s enough for now. Thanks for coming,” she said to Cherry. “If you remember anything about Garwin that might be relevant, let me know.”
“So I’m not a suspect anymore?” Cherry asked, standing up.
“I didn’t say you were a suspect.”
“No, but it’s pretty obvious. You mean just because I scraped my leg when I fell into the ocean I’m suspected of setting off bombs?”
“I didn’t say that either. As far as I’m concerned, everyone’s a suspect until we find a reason to rule them out.”
“Everyone except the Woken, you mean."
“I don’t mean that at all.”
“Huh,” Cherry said dismissively. She strode to the door and went out.
In truth, Cariad hadn’t strongly suspected the Woken. It was clear that the Gens had been infiltrated by the Natural Movement at the Nova Fortuna’s departure, and that the cult had indoctrinated a number of Gens down the years of the ship’s passage. Nothing Strongquist had found had implicated Woken involvement.
But Cariad’s opinion had changed after hearing Rene’s story. Now she wasn’t so sure she could rule out her fellow scientists.
Chapter Sixteen
Ethan was wrapped in threads and they were pulling him down, down, down into the river. His eardrums and lungs felt like they would burst. It was pointless for him to cling onto life until the very end, he knew, yet he couldn’t help it. A part of him continued to fight against inevitability.
Where were the threads taking him? To a gaping maw on the river bed where he would be eaten alive? Or would they squeeze him ever tighter and tighter, biting through his flesh, slicing him into pieces?
Panic forced his eyelids open. The river water was murky and stung his eyes. The current as well as the predatory threads was pulling him. He couldn’t hold his breath any longer. A bubble of air forced its way out from his lungs. He fought the urge to breathe in. He was dizzy and sleepy. Calmness and serenity began to replace his fear.
It was a pity he had to die. He had so much to live for, but then again, death came to everyone in the end. Ethan only wished he could have said goodbye to Cariad. She would never know what had happened to him. He hoped the colony would succeed and that she would live a long and happy life.
Another bubble of air slipped from his lips and was lost in the murkiness. He didn’t have long now. Ethan was glad his death wouldn’t be any worse than this. He felt peaceful and ready to go.
His head broke the surface. Shock made him gasp and he drew in deep lungfuls of sweet air. He had only a moment to wonder what was happening and take in a view of the wide, brown river and distant bank before the threads pulled him under again. Again, they dragged him so deep that the water pressed in on him.
The breath of air had given him new hope and vigor. He battled the enveloping threads, writhing and kicking against the tight bonds, but it was no use. He was so tightly wrapped he could barely move his limbs.
Just as Ethan thought he would die if he didn’t breathe, his head popped above the surface again. He drew in air quickly. He had no idea what the threads were doing, but if a few more minutes of life were being offered to him, he would take them. This time the landscape had changed. He caught a glimpse of the arch-rooted plants with draping branches before he was pulled under once more.
The threads were dragging him at enormous speed. They had taken only minutes to travel a distance it had taken Ethan days to traverse.
As he edged perilously close to drowning for the third time he slammed into a hard surface. With his remaining consciousness he wondered where he was. He hadn’t expected to hit anything hard on the bottom of the river. He’d expected soft, slimy mud. Unless he’d impacted a wide, flat stone? But it hadn’t felt like stone. The surface he was pressed against was smooth and regular.
The surface slid away. Ethan tumbled into a hole along with a deluge of water. The threads released him. Unable to stop himself, he took a breath and water flooded his throat and lungs. He coughed violently but his reflex reaction to coughing was to breathe in again.
To his profound surprise, the next breath he took was of air.
He continued to cough and retch in darkness. His feet were resting on a solid surface but he guessed he was chest-deep in water. His head, neck, and arms were somehow in a bubble of air at the bottom of the river. Ethan reached out but his fingers didn’t make contact with any surface. The water was gurgling and gushing.
It was draining away. Ethan could feel the water moving downward. The level was dropping. It moved down to his stomach, then his hips, and then his thighs felt sodden and cold as the water left them. When it had drained as far as his ankles, the ground slid out from beneath his feet and he fell again. He hit another floor, landing hard and awkwardly. Ethan cried out as his ankle wrenched to one side and he fell heavily, one elbow taking his full weight.
The floor of this second chamber was covered in a thin layer of water about a couple of centimeters deep. Ethan continued to cough as his lungs tried to expel the remaining water that irritated them. His ankle and elbow sent out shooting bolts of pain. Where was he? Where had the threads taken him? Was he in some kind of storeroom, to be kept fresh until they were ready for him?
When his coughing finally eased, Ethan sat up on the watery ground. He remained in utter darkness. He couldn’t even see his hand in front of his face. He was also soaking wet and so cold he trembled. But he was alive—for now.
Unwilling to trust his ankle with his weight, he crawled across the floor, trying to discover the boundaries of the place where the threads had deposited him. When he’d crawled about three or four meters, sloshing through the water that covered the floor, he met a solid vertical surface. Taking care to favor his uninjured leg, he stood up, sliding his hands up the wall and as far as he could reach over his head. He couldn’t reach the ceiling.
Ethan continued his explorations along the wall and eventually discovered he was in a room about six meters square. A rushing sound came from all around, which he guessed had to be the river flowing past.
He was shaking with cold. He took off his shirt and pants, which seemed to be only draining the heat from his body, and wrung them out as forcefully as he could. He didn’t have anywhere to hang them, so he put them on again, benefiting a little from the drier cloth. His boots were gone, apparently falling off at some point as the threads dragged him through the water.
Ethan went to a corner of the chamber and stood, leaning against it, to avoid wetting his clothes again in the water on the floor. What now? He was shivering less than before, but that was about the only goo
d thing about his situation. The threads were clearly keeping him confined for a purpose.
Then curiosity invaded his morbid speculations. He touched the wall again. The material didn’t feel like natural stone, and it wasn’t metal or plastic either. The chamber he was in was flat and square, as if it had been artificially manufactured. The threads had to possess some kind of intelligence to create the place.
Ethan also realized that the first room the threads had put him in was a kind of air lock, like he’d seen aboard the Nova Fortuna. Only here it was to transition between water and air, not between the vacuum of space and atmosphere inside the ship. The air lock was another sign of the threads’ intelligence. Not only had they constructed a regularly shaped chamber, they understood that he needed air to live.
The realization that his captors were intelligent lit a tiny flame of hope in Ethan. If they possessed intelligence, perhaps the creatures could be reasoned with in some way.
He noticed that by some miracle, his recorder still hung around his neck. Thinking that it was extremely unlikely anyone would ever replay his words or look at the pictures he’d taken, he nevertheless felt compelled to continue to record his experiences. He turned on the device.
After relating his story of being captured by the threads, transported along the river, and deposited in the chamber, he went on, “From what I can tell about this place, the threads must be intelligent to create it and place me here. If they’re intelligent, I guess they probably have some kind of language. Though I don’t know how to communicate with them, or even where they are. I can’t hear anything except the noise of the river water passing by outside. I remember seeing vids of aquatic animals on Earth but I’m not sure how they communicated. I think it might have been through electrical impulses or light. If that’s the kind of language the threads use, I don’t have a hope of talking to them and making them understand that humans are intelligent too. If they knew that, maybe they would let me go.”