I motion for Chuy to lower her pistol, and she does without hesitation.
“What’s the message?” I ask.
He digs into his pocket and freezes when Chuy’s gun comes up again.
“Slowly,” she says.
When he pulls out a folded piece of paper, Chuy lowers her weapon again.
“A little quaint,” I say, taking the paper. “This is the future, you know.”
“Only for some of us,” he says, revealing that he knows when we’re from, too.
I open the note to find a bunch of symbols that mean nothing to me. “This a code or something?”
He looks at me like I’m a Tyrannosaurus Rex whose brain is smaller than a walnut.
Chuy leans over. Looks at the scrawled symbols. “Celestial coordinates. Also, you’re holding it upside down.”
I rotate the page 180 degrees. The symbols become numbers. “So, I’m an idiot. Sue me.”
Chuy won’t know where these coordinates will take us just from looking at them. I doubt even Hildy could do that.
“So, what now?” I ask. “You go on your merry way, and we walk into whatever trap is waiting for us here?” I waggle the paper in his face.
“Your call. But if I were you, I’d be more worried about your Union crew than whatever you find there.” He points to the page. Doesn’t know where the celestial coordinates lead, either.
“You know something about my crew?” I ask.
“I know more than a few somethings about the Union, including that you’ve been nice and cozy with them for years.”
He could be digging for information, so I decide to give him a taste of his own medicine. Instead of answering, I step aside and motion to his weird, cube lander. “Have a nice trip home.”
“Really?” he says. “Just like that? You’re letting us go?”
“I don’t take prisoners,” I tell him, “and I don’t want to kill you. Yet. But, that can change. So, mosey on back to wherever you came from, and tell your boss I’ll think about it.”
“You’re really not going to ask me anything else? Like where we came from? How none of us are white? Why—”
“You’re still talking?” I chamber a round. “Whoever sent you had a message to deliver. You did that. That you’re looking for the cat and mouse banter to continue tells me you’re an amateur, and this is the first time you’ve been asked to do something significant. Going home with a story about getting your ass kicked isn’t going to win over the ladies, so you’re hoping for a redo. And if you get one, it’s going to involve me rotating you a mile up and interrogating you on the way down. If that sounds like a good time, feel free to—”
“Okay,” he says, stepping toward the cube. “Okay. Geez. Didn’t think you’d be so cranky.”
“Been a weird couple of days,” I tell him.
He taps the large cube’s smooth side. The metal wall dissolves, revealing a doorway. “Going to get a lot weirder.” He lets his two compatriots, who have finally arrived, enter first. Like a couple of disciplined puppies, they don’t even meet our eyes. He steps in behind them, and the wall seals itself.
When the cube starts to hum, I reach my arm out for Chuy. She steps into my grasp, and we rotate away together.
We emerge inside Lil’ Bitch’n’s cargo bay. Hildy yelps at our return and claps a hand over her mouth. Carter looks up, both interested and suspicious.
“Everyone on board?” I ask.
Burnett steps out of the cockpit. “All here and good to go.”
I toggle my comms. “Morton, get us home, ASAP.”
“We in a rush?” he asks.
“Yes. That was implied by the ‘ASAP,’” I say.
I take a seat beside Carter. Buckle up. “Sorry about before.”
“What happened?”
“We were given a message,” I say. “From a friend. Maybe.” I show her the page.
She stares at it for a moment, and then says, “Looks like a bunch of upside-down numbers.”
“Sorry,” I say, turning the page around. “Celestial coordinates.”
“To where?” she asks.
“No idea. But we’re going to—”
Hildy snaps her fingers at me. Holds her hand out for the paper.
“Really?” I say. “That was going to be a cool line.”
“Just let me see it,” she says, and I hand her the paper. She looks at the coordinates and her brow furrows. “Who gave this to you?”
“Didn’t get his name,” I say. “Why?”
She waggles the page. “This isn’t an exo-planet.”
“It’s inhabited?” Chuy asks.
That would be something of a worst-case scenario. No way we’re going to jump back into Union space. Not while their entire fleet is out looking for us.
She shakes her head. “Not anymore. This is one of the dead planets.”
25
Dead planets. There are five of them. Earth was the first. They’re worlds that have been used up and depleted of their natural resources, and made uninhabitable thanks to pollution—of the air, water, and food. The first thing that goes is wildlife—gobbled up by an ever-expanding human population. Next is the environment, then once the world is too hot, the food supply.
When a planet dies, billions of people rotate away to multiple, habitable exo-planets. They’re like cancer cells, dividing and spreading, leaving death in their wake.
I was part of the process for a long time. Now that I’m not, I see the darkness of it with clear eyes. I had ulterior motives, sure, but that doesn’t stop guilt from hopping on for a piggyback ride. Going to be carrying it around for a while.
Dead planets are mostly abandoned, save for the occasional salvage crew. Nobody knows that better than Morton, Burnett, and Porter. They spent ten years together, slagging through the rubble of dead worlds, looking for scraps.
I shouldn’t be surprised they’re not thrilled with the news.
“I’d hoped to never see a dead world again,” Porter says.
We’re all on the bridge. Ready to rotate. The boys are hesitating.
“They’re so depressing,” Morton says. “They make me feel…bad.”
“That’s because you have a conscience,” Chuy says.
“It’s a good thing,” I add.
“Doesn’t feel good,” Morton says.
“It will later,” I assure him. “We were all part of a broken system. It’s easy to fall into. At least you all were born into it. I don’t have that excuse.”
“Is there a way to not feel bad about it?” Burnett asks.
“Do the right thing,” I say. “From here on out.”
“There is word for that,” Drago says. “The thing that we seek. Iskupleniye.”
“Redemption,” Carter says, translating for those who don’t speak Ruskie.
“Holy hell,” Hildy says. “Do you all talk this much, all the time, or just when you’re about to do something exciting? Let’s get on this bitch.”
“I don’t think that’s a saying,” I say, “but I hear you. Morton…” I feel like I should have a catchphrase for this moment, like… I can’t remember his name. The bald guy.
Why can’t I remember his name?
Who cares.
“Take us there,” I say. “No. That’s dumb. Morton…rotate. Nope. Awkward.”
Hildy shakes her head. “You’ve been doing this for how many years and you still don’t have a term for ‘en—”
“Let’s beat feet!” I say.
Everyone just stares at me.
“We’re in a spaceship, chocho,” Chuy says. “Ain’t no feet to beat.”
“Morton,” I say, giving up, “fire up the slew. Let’s fuckin’ go.”
Hildy leans closer to me. Whispers, “That was better.”
And then we rotate into the white. We linger there for a moment, slipping through space in another reality, and then we rotate back out. Below is a gray planet. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume it was a barren world, still
in the early stages of development. In a way, it is. The planet will eventually recover from the damage done, but it’s going to take millions of years.
“Is shithole,” Drago observes.
“Wasn’t always,” Hildy says. “It used to look a lot like Earth.”
“How long did it take?” I ask. “From the moment it was discovered until it looked like this?”
“Ninety-seven years,” she says.
“A single lifetime,” I say. The guilt on my back is binge-eating.
“The rate of planetary decline has slowed over the years,” Hildy says, trying to sound cheery.
“How long until planet death now?” Drago asks.
“On average, two hundred years,” Hildy says. “It’s been fifty years since the last, but we’re due for another three in the next fifteen years. If it makes you feel better, none of the worlds you found will die within your lifetime.”
“It doesn’t,” I say, standing and stepping closer to the windshield that doesn’t shield wind. The planet’s oceans are greenish. Probably an algae bloom. There are subtle signs of previous habitation. Old cities are scars on the land. I don’t see much in the way of natural growth. Aside from it being a depressing guilt trip, nothing else about this planet stands out. “If this is the message, I don’t get it.”
“You need to go down to the surface, silly,” Hildy says.
“Finding a message on a planet the size of Earth is—”
“The celestial coordinates include longitude and latitude,” Hildy says, a little too late to spare me from embarrassing myself again.
“And don’t go rotating down there,” Chuy says. “There’s actually too much O2 in the atmosphere, and a shit-ton of pollutants. It would be like breathing in the smoking section of a Denny’s. We’re going to need suits and helmets.”
“Well, that’s horrible.” I head for the door. “Chuy, Hildy, Carter, you’re my brainy Three Amigas for this one. Morton, you’re flying Lil’ Bitch’n.”
“I’ll just stay on ship forever then,” Drago complains.
“As long as the Union is looking for us, I need someone who can fight to stay on board.”
He grumbles to himself, but he doesn’t complain. He knows I’m right.
On my way to Lil’ Bitch’n, I slow my pace, letting Chuy, Morton, and Hildy overtake me. I slide up next to Carter. “You’re not saying much.”
“Nothing to say.”
She might not run her mouth like some of us—like me—but Carter always has something to say. “Is this like a woman thing where you say you’re not hungry, but you’re really saying you want a double cheeseburger? Or you say, ‘Go ahead, that sounds great,’ but you really mean, ‘I will skin you alive if you dare?’”
“Sometimes my job requires me to watch, listen, and learn,” she says. “When I’m done doing that, I’ll let you know.”
Reading between the feminine lines, I ask, “So, it’s Chuy then, right?”
She stops in her tracks, and I nearly trip over myself trying to put on the brakes. “You think I’m jealous…” She points to Chuy, now entering the cargo bay. “…of her?”
The hint of disdain in her voice says that she’s either definitely jealous of Chuy, or she has some other problem with her that I can’t begin to imagine.
“What’s wrong with Chuy?” I ask, feeling defensive for my partner. “That came out wrong. What I mean is, if you’re going to be jealous of me having sexual relations with other people, I already told you, it’s just been me and Harriet for years.”
Her smile requires a microscope to see, but it’s there.
Good enough for now, I think, and I resume our trek, which involves a minute long walk to Lil’ Bitch’n, five minutes of prep, a ten-minute flight, and another ten minutes to get everyone suited up.
I’m not a fan of wearing a fully encased helmet. They’re a little claustrophobic and they really suck if you have bad breath. The suits are modified, airtight BCSs. They allow for full range of motion, but they’re a little tight in the britches. When the hatch lowers to the ground, I strut down the ramp picking at my crotch.
“You got space crabs again, boss?” Chuy says.
“Ha ha,” I say. “Feels like my nuts are being pinched by a lobster.”
“This planet once had lobster-like creatures,” Hildy says.
“Let me guess,” I say. “Extinct?”
“Actually, no. People kept them as pets. They were extremely loyal and easy to train. When the people left, they took their pets with them. They’re now popular on three inhabited worlds.”
“Fun,” I say, and then I stumble to a stop at the ramp’s bottom. I’m unprepared for what I find.
It’s a neighborhood.
Unlike the apocalyptic Antarctic remains in which I awoke, this place is still intact. At least the structures are. There’s no plant life anywhere. The air is full of dust. It hisses against my viewscreen, whipped up by gusts of wind.
“Which way?” I ask Hildy.
She doesn’t hear me. Can’t say I blame the kid. Her first venture to another planet was Elysium—nicest place in the habitable galaxy. This…is a nightmare.
I put my hand on her shoulder. “Not going to puke this time, right? Because that’s going to go very badly for you.”
“No,” she says. “I just didn’t… I wasn’t… I’d seen photos of this world. And videos. But there’s no record of this.”
“Dead things tend to be unpleasant,” I say. “We don’t need to stay here long.” I hope. “Just point me in the right direction, and I’ll—”
She points.
“Thanks.” I strike out toward what looks like a quaint home in a nice neighborhood, if you ignore the wasteland surrounding it. There’s even a white picket fence—classic Americana sans the red, white, and blue. Hard to believe the white supremacists who spawned this future nightmare came from the country who defeated the Nazis. But here we are.
There’s something off about the fence. Little knobs on the top of each baluster. “What the hell…” The knobs are little skulls. No idea what they belonged to, but they couldn’t have been cute.
This is the only house decorated after the mass evacuation. Has to be the right place. I let myself into the yard through the gate and pause to take in the freakshow. There’s what looks like a car, built from a collection of metal parts. Not far away is a mannequin, dressed like a mom from the 1950s, her painted eyes scratched away, but her frozen smile still present. In between them is a shovel, stuck in the dirt.
There is a question mark painted on the shovel’s blade.
On the house, car, and mannequin’s forehead are painted-on ‘No’ symbols.
“The hell does this mean?” Chuy asks.
“Not a clue,” I say. Nothing about this makes sense. I turn to Carter. “Anything?”
She just shakes her head, looking intrigued, but little else.
Hildy gasps. When I spin around to face her, she’s beaming.
“What?” I ask her. “You know what all this is?”
She all but skips past me. “You’re looking for a message, right? Something that only you, or someone from your era, would understand?”
“That was the hope,” I say.
“Well, you’re standing in it.”
I scan the strange front yard again, and I don’t see any message. I’m about to vent my frustration when Hildy motions to the shovel with both hands. “You may ask yourself, how do I work this?”
She waits for a response.
“I got nothing, kid. Sorry.”
“Seriously?” She leaps over to the car. Motions to it. “Where is that large automobile?”
That clicks.
“Holy shit,” Chuy says, pointing to the ‘No’ symbol on the house. “This is not my beautiful house.”
“This is not my beautiful wife,” Carter says, eyeing the mannequin. “Talking Heads. Nice. What does it mean?”
I turn to Chuy, equally happy and terrified. “‘Onc
e in a Lifetime’ was Brick’s favorite song.” I tug the shovel out of the dry soil. “How do I work this?” I scan the yard and spot a lone brick. “I dig.”
26
The soil is hard-packed and full of rocks. Digging through it is a bitch. I’m tempted to use the Taks. Their robotic arms would make short work of the solid earth. But I don’t know what’s buried here, and Taks aren’t known for being gentle.
There’s only one shovel, so I labor alone while the others scout the area—Hildy and Carter are inside. Chuy is in the backyard. I don’t expect them to find anything. I just didn’t want to be watched, in case this brick is a gravestone. Just thinking about it makes my eyes water.
He’s not dead, I tell myself. The brick was a marker, that’s all.
I hope.
Two feet down, the shovel clangs against something hard. A rock. Too big to shovel out. Hands and knees, I find the stone’s edge, get my gloved fingers on its side, and pull. It takes a lot of wiggling, but the rock comes free.
Only, it’s not a rock.
It’s another brick.
I toss it to the side, look back into the hole. I’m not sure what I was expecting to find beneath the brick, but it wasn’t more dirt. “C’mon, Brick, you’re killing me.”
I pick up the shovel and start digging again. Ten minutes of hard labor gets me nowhere and nothing but sweaty. I try to wipe my arm across my forehead and just bonk my helmet.
I’m about to unleash a torrent of creative curses when Chuy says, “Anything?”
She’s approaching from the side yard, hands empty.
“Another brick.” I point to the ruddy rectangle. “And a lot more dirt.”
“I can take a turn,” Chuy says.
“I got it.”
“You’re not the only one who feels the burden of finding our people, you know.”
I’m about to argue the point. I’ve been so laser focused on chasing down Brick, Whip, Benny, and BigApe that I haven’t really considered how Chuy feels about it all. I know she wants to find them, but I didn’t think about how she might feel responsible for them.
“We’ve been together this whole time,” she says. “And they’re…lost. Maybe living in a shithole like this. Maybe dead in a shithole like this. Right now. We’re the team. You and me. And it’s on us to find the others. You copy?”
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