Undying

by Amie Kaufman

  IA Headquarters, aside from its museum exhibits, is an administrative building, not a prison. Addison was kept here largely to quiet the human rights activists claiming you couldn’t imprison him indefinitely without a trial—here, they can claim he’s simply being detained. There are parts of the castle off-limits to the public, offices and whatnot—and a large underground security complex.

  That’s where we have to go. Through the exhibits, and down through the secured part of the building. Without getting caught. The thought makes even me quail, and we all slow down once we’re inside. It’ll take us a while to get the lay of the area, see if there’s any pattern to the guards’ movements, figure out which doors are least heavily monitored.

  So when Jules’s steps veer toward one of the exhibits, I don’t protest. This might be our last real moment of freedom. Of peace, before we’re arrested. And here, surrounded by other teens, and families, and tourists of all descriptions, life almost feels normal.

  At the nearest exhibit, a kid is pressing a button over and over that triggers an audio recording. There’s not much to hear, just oddly rhythmic static, but Jules veers over toward it like it’s a dog whistle and he’s an obedient Labrador.

  “It’s the broadcast,” Jules explains under his breath. “The original Undying broadcast.”

  I listen, but it still just sounds like noise. But a picture on one of the exhibit standees grabs my eye, and I tug at Jules’s sleeve. “Look—your dad.”

  Neal starts reading aloud, covering up the fact that Jules has gone very quiet. “Though scientists were quick to recognize that the signal had an artificial structure that suggested intelligence, it took one of the world’s leading experts in mathematics and linguistics to decode the message. Dr. Elliott Addison, despite his later disgrace—um, never mind.” Neal’s quick to turn toward the next set of standees, conveniently coming between Jules and the rest of the summary of his father’s contribution to the International Alliance.

  We stroll backward along the time line, until Neal lets out a bleat of excitement. “Oh, awesome, they’ve got a scale model of the Centauri ship!” Forgetting us entirely, he lurches forward to inspect the sprawling, bird’s-eye-view model of the ship.

  The decision to leave Earth in search of an answer to the world’s overpopulation was what led to the formation of the International Alliance. We’re all taught about it in school: a series of meaningless dates and names to memorize, how various world leaders settled on an international charter of basic laws, the voting process, all of it. But here, looking at the ship that was built as a result of that global collaboration, all those old lessons come to life.

  Neal’s in engineering heaven, inspecting a replica of one of the engines in cross section. My eyes linger on the model of the ship, on the star map of the Alpha Centauri star system, on a terrain map of the planet in orbit around Proxima Centauri that was to be humanity’s second home.

  Jules is still quiet, and I know his mind’s on the one-paragraph description of his father, a man who changed history and is remembered only for the tirade that ended his career. I reach for his hand and give it a squeeze. “You know, this exhibit is actually pretty cool.”

  “Hmm?” Jules blinks and looks from me to the ship model. “Yeah, I suppose it is.”

  “I mean it.” I move until I’m standing in front of a glass case containing a uniform from the Centauri mission. One leg of the uniform has been cut away, revealing a cross section of its complex structure, with different layers of insulating gel, armored fabric, and electronics. A masterpiece of design, from a time when all of humanity worked as one.

  I can see myself in the glass, and when I stand on my toes it almost looks like my reflection is wearing the uniform. “I mean, in school we know how the story ends before we know anything else. We already know the mission fails, and everybody dies, and the IA sort of falls apart and turns into just another bureaucracy, and they’re just remembered for messing up and killing a bunch of people.”

  Jules snorts. “What a legacy.”

  “No, listen to me.” I tug his hand until he’s standing alongside me in front of the case. “When you know how the story ends you kind of don’t care about what happens. But look at all this, Jules. When you really look at the ship and the uniforms and the map and all of it … look at what we can do. When we stop fighting each other and look outside ourselves.”

  I’m lost here, because the inspirational speeches are Jules’s territory, but the feeling is there, and I’m desperate for him to see it. “I mean, did you know we could do this? People did all this. It’s incredible.”

  “And history will remember them as a failure.” Jules’s gaze is remote. He’s not talking about the IA.

  “Who gives a shit about history?” I abandon my attempt at speechifying, and turn to look at him, intent. “Right now, I’m saying I think it’s amazing.”

  Jules glances at me, then does a double take, lips twitching. “You’re irresistible when you’re scowling.”

  Beyond him is the long memorial wall, covered with the names of those who died in pursuit of the Centauri mission, but I keep him turned toward me. “I was trying to distract you by pointing out the noble appeal of all mankind looking toward the stars for a united common purpose greater than any we’d shared before, but I’ll settle for making out inappropriately in the middle of a public exhibit.”

  Jules laughs in spite of himself, and reaches up to tweak a lock of my newly dyed red hair. He starts to speak, but something’s nagging at me, something off.

  My eyes go past him again to that memorial wall, and for a long moment I don’t see anything. Then I catch a glimpse of something—Neal? But Neal’s still over at the engine, in the middle of a dozen eight-year-old school kids, pushing buttons and exclaiming when bits of the engine light up in response.

  Not Neal. But someone tall. Two someones.

  “Oh my God.” My voice is strangled and thin.

  Jules, who’d been ducking his head toward mine, freezes. “What? You said we could make out, I was just—”

  “No—look. They’re here.”

  I ought to warn him not to stare, not to make our observation obvious, but I’m too floored. Jules turns, and I feel it when he spots them.

  Dex and Atlanta, dressed not all that differently than we are, doing their best to blend in with the crowd. Atlanta’s examining the names on the memorial wall, evidently trying to look interested in the exhibit, and Dex is casually scanning the crowd.

  His eyes swing our way without warning, and before I can try to pull Jules somewhere less obvious, his gaze halts on us.

  For a long moment we stare at each other across the sea of tourists. Then he’s turning toward Atlanta. My heart seizes, and I scan the exits, certain I’m going to see them both charging our way when I look back. But instead, Atlanta’s turned away and is moving off, and Dex is coming toward us.

  Jules’s hand is so tight around mine my bones creak, but I don’t mind—in this moment, it’s the only thing keeping my own fear in check.

  Dex, with an air of studied casualness, meanders toward us and nods. “Pretty cool exhibit, huh?” He says “cool” the way our orphanage director used to say it, like she was trying to be young and hip.

  Jules is staring at him, his face rigid—my mind is scrambling too, but I’m used to speaking when my ideas are still only half-formed.

  “What are you doing here?” I whisper. “Did you leave us that tracker?”

  “Yeh. Stop staring.” Dex is not looking at us, his eyes on the placard next to the Centauri mission uniform. “I told Atlanta to check the security on the staircases, I don’t have a lot of time.” He might not have our slang right yet, but in every other way he’s sounding smoother. He’s been learning to blend in more ways than one, changing the way he talks.

  “Why are you helping us?” Jules’s voice comes out in a croak.

  “Stop asking questions, I don’t have time to answer them, compren?” Dex slips his h
ands into his pockets, and though the movement is casual, I can see muscles standing out in his arms. Behind him, I spot Neal look up from the engine display, his eyes widening when he sees us. “You need to compren something if you’re going to stop this: It’s all about the portals. If you can stop us using the portals you can stop the occupation.”

  We were right about the portals—they are the key to everything. But then the rest of what he says catches up with me. “Occupation?” I repeat, fear creeping into my gut.

  “The Undying occupation of Earth. Once most of you are regressed, we’ll be in custody of the planet.” Dex glances from me to Jules. “You’re here for your father, yeh?”

  I can feel Jules’s shock through our joined hands. A moment later his fingers go lax, slipping from mine. “How do you know who my—”

  Dex cuts him off. “Are you fooling? Sirsly, the first thing we did when we got here, the very first thing, we figured what you knew about us. How would that not be the first thing we look for? It’s all over your internet, your television broadcasts, your books and newspapers and podcasts.”

  Neal’s moving toward us, carefully. I catch his eye, and when he lifts his brows, I shrug. I don’t know if we’re in trouble or not. What Neal would be able to do about it, I don’t know, but at this point I don’t think it’s going to help if he sneaks up behind Dex and tackles him to the ground.

  “Of course we looked up what you knew about the race of mysterious aliens who led you to Gaia.” Dex is still talking, sounding so much more like us than he did a few days ago, his eyes intent on Jules. I might as well be invisible, but it just means I can scan for Atlanta, for some sign that Dex is trying to trick us. But his body language, reflected in the glass uniform case, is urgent rather than aggressive.

  “Why wouldn’t we memorize every lecture Elliott Addison ever gave about the Undying, check every paper and book he ever published on us, every video of his meltdown on your TV?”

  Jules’s jaw clenches, but he manages to keep himself under control.

  Dex shifts his weight from foot to foot. “That’s how we knew we could win. When we saw the way they treated Addison when he tried to tell the truth, that was when we knew we could win.” His eyes are shadowed, expression grave. He glances over his shoulder, but there’s no sign of Atlanta. Instead he sees Neal, who gives him an awkward little wave, like he wasn’t considering trying to attack him thirty seconds ago.

  When Dex turns back to Jules, he lets his breath out in a sigh. “That day in the landing pod, when you guys shifted planetside with us, I know you saw me look at you. You saw me recognize you.”

  Jules says nothing. I could burst with pride that he’s learned to keep his mouth shut and not volunteer or confirm anything he doesn’t have to, except that I’m pretty sure he’s just silent because he’s standing there in some stunned combination of shock and fury.

  Dex shakes his head. “But it wasn’t that I realized you were from Earth, that you were a proto. I realized you were Jules Addison.”

  That shatters Jules’s stillness, and he raises a hand to gesture in a way that’s so like how he speaks when he’s correcting me on history or language that I fight the insane, fleeting urge to laugh. “Hold on, you couldn’t possibly have—”

  “Your voice sounds like his,” Dex interrupts without missing a beat.

  Jules, floundering, is silent again.

  “You said, ‘Onward, if you dare,’ ” Dex presses. “His words, his voice. You’re here for your father. Yeh?”

  Jules’s eyes flick toward me. But at this point, I’m out of my depth. No amount of quick thinking or understanding of human nature is going to help us here. I lift one shoulder, gazing helplessly back at him. In the glass of the case, Dex’s reflection is wearing the Centauri uniform now, and it steals my gaze. A few moments ago I was thinking about what our species can accomplish when we remember we’re not actually all that different. And now that symbol of unity is superimposed on a human from outer space.

  “Yeh?” Dex’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and Jules’s too, his urgency obvious.

  “Yeh,” Jules says finally.

  “So are we.”

  The words hit hard enough to knock the wind from me, and from Jules’s stunned face, I know he’s half a heartbeat from total breakdown.

  “You’ve got to get to him before we do. Prime-One, it isn’t just about IA Headquarters. Our destin is to kill the one man with the know-how to stop us. Unless someone else gets there first.” Dex’s hand comes out of his pocket, this time holding a small electronic device, which he hands to Jules. “Take it. We got backups on backups when it comes to infiltrating this place. Atlanta will get us inwards even if it turns out I forgot to pack the code breaker. I can slow her down, but I can’t do anything if we reach him before you do.”

  Jules stares at the device, which is about the size of a drinks coaster, blankly. “You’re here to kill him?” he whispers.

  Impatient, Dex jostles his shoulder. “This thing—it unscrambles door codes. You can get to the secured underground wing where prisoners are kept before we do.”

  Those words seem to shatter whatever spell is holding Jules, because he reaches out as if to take Dex’s sleeve and blurts, “Wait—wait, we need you. We’ve got too many questions. … Who are you? How are you human? Why are you trying to take Earth, and how did you even get into space so long ago to begin with? Why all the elaborate lies and puzzles and—”

  “I don’t have time to answer.” Dex’s voice lifts a little in irritation, but he gets himself under control. Neal has crept up alongside us, and he’s watching the Undying teenager with an unreadable expression. “I’m not fooling, I can’t, not right now. I’ve gotta shift.”

  Jules’s arm moves again, though he still doesn’t actually take hold of Dex. But instead of a torrent of questions, this time he just asks one. “Why are you helping us?”

  Dex’s gaze swings over toward my face, then Neal’s, where it lingers for a moment before flicking back to Jules. His lashes lower for a long moment, and then he says softly, “Because you sound like your father. I really gotta shift. Good luck.”

  Then he’s moving away, back into the crowd. But I’m still staring at the uniform case, my mind still seizing like it did before, like I’ve seen something wrong and I just don’t know what it is yet.

  “Jules,” I murmur, a rising confusion and certainty prompting me.

  “Just … just give me a second.” Jules’s voice is taut with feeling.

  The Centauri uniforms are a deep blue, emblazoned on the right breast pocket with the flag of the International Alliance and the logo for the Centauri mission, a landing craft streaking across the trinary star system that was their destination.

  “Jules—” I try again. I can feel Neal straightening next to me, sensing the urgency in my tone.

  “They watched videos of my father being mocked,” Jules mutters to himself, clearly oblivious to me and to his cousin, “and that’s when they knew they could beat us and take Earth?”

  My eyes stick on the Centauri logo. On the cutout of the uniform’s leg, and the layers inside the suit. “Jules!” I shout, not caring that a few people nearby turn to stare at us and then move away, slowly.

  Jules blinks and looks up. “What?” His voice is sharp with irritation.

  “Look.” My finger’s quivering as it points toward the case.

  We all grew up knowing the Centauri mission logo. But it’s history, a thing long gone, so far in the past that it’s become background noise. All it is to us is a symbol of failure. But now it snaps into focus as if it’s brand-new. It’s the first time either of us would’ve had reason to look at the logo since we’ve been to Gaia.

  Jules is silent, his eyes wide, his lips parted. Beside us, slowly, Neal pulls out the tracking device Dex left behind for us, and turns it over to look at the back. Etched into the casing is the Undying symbol, the one we saw in the temple on Gaia. A meteorite, streaking across the sky, we
always thought.

  Or a colony ship, streaking through a star system.

  “How is this possible?” Neal whispers.

  “It isn’t.” Jules’s words are dismissive, but he can’t stop staring at the uniform. “It isn’t possible, okay? The temple on Gaia is fifty thousand years old. The Centauri mission left Earth only sixty years ago.”

  “And even if the ship itself wasn’t destroyed like the IA thought, they only had resources for …” Neal’s frowning, and abandons his mental calculations. “There’s no way they could still be alive today even if they weren’t immediately destroyed when the IA lost contact with them.”

  “But they’re human.” I’m remembering Atlanta, how she stood there scanning the names on the wall of Centauri mission casualties. “They’re human, and look—the leg of the suit. The insulating gel—it’s blue, isn’t it? The Undying guy on the ship who was injured was wearing a suit. I mean, different from this one, obviously, but … what if it’s the same technology?”

  “So it looked like blue blood when the uniform got cut.” Jules’s voice is stunned and slow.

  “Maybe they faked the temple somehow.” Neal is watching Jules with something almost like apprehension, like he’s waiting for an explosion to occur. “Maybe it’s not as old as we thought.”

  “Geologists and archaeologists dated the temple carvings with a margin of error less than 0.08 percent.” Jules’s voice is faint, falling back on his scholarly roots like I’d crawl beneath a familiar, warm blanket. “They couldn’t have faked it.”

  I reach for Jules’s arm, which moves without resistance, and retrieve the device Dex gave us. Jules doesn’t even seem to notice.

  “Guys, they’re going to kill Jules’s dad. We have to get moving, now.”

  The device Dex handed me activates at the touch of a button, a display screen showing a ten-digit number that flips backward through each digit until it shows zeroes across the board. I’m trying to ignore the sheer panic flooding my system at the mere thought of what lies ahead.