Salvation Day

by Kali Wallace

  Henke had been confident, grinning, looking for a fight. He had been twice her size. He had not thought she was a threat.

  “Zahra,” Malachi said, “we can’t stay here. We have to keep moving.”

  He sounded as tired as I felt. I wanted to close my eyes and rest, the two of us alone in the darkness, sleep until the cold drained away and the ache in my head was gone and the sour taste of fear had faded from my throat. I couldn’t remember the last time I had tried to choose right and wrong for myself. I felt cold and hollow, as papery as the savaged corpses. Nadra and Anwar were on their way. I had promised them safety. I had promised them peace. We were supposed to be together here, and happy.

  But our dream of a new life, of freedom and beauty unshackled in the stars, it had been dead before we left the ground. I understood now the fear I had seen on Bhattacharya’s face aboard the shuttle, and the horror in his voice when Ariana began to panic. He had known what we were too arrogant to see. House of Wisdom was not a sanctuary. It was an abyss. It had taken nearly five hundred lives already. If we brought the family here, it would swallow three hundred more.

  * * *

  • • •

  On the door was a sign: SATELLITE INTERFEROMETRY. Malachi chose that laboratory because, he said, it would have a dedicated data transmission link. I didn’t ask how he knew. The room was clean and empty, as though the scientists had simply gone home for the night.

  While Malachi got the radio working, I fumbled through the storage lockers until I found a bulky knit sweater and a jacket with the House of Wisdom patch on the sleeve. The jacket fit Malachi; the sweater was too big on me. Neither provided much insulation.

  “I’ve got the comms,” Malachi said. “And it looks like—shit.”

  “What?”

  “Incoming transmissions. Listen.”

  A woman’s voice crackled from the speakers. “This is SPEC Orbital Control vessel Pangong, addressing the persons who have illegally entered the vessel House of Wisdom.”

  “Is that the dark ship? How close are they?” I asked.

  Malachi shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Your presence aboard House of Wisdom endangers both yourselves and your hostages. Open a channel of communication immediately so we may discuss the safe return of the hostages and continued safety of the ship Homestead. This is SPEC Orbital Control vessel Pangong, addressing the persons who have illegally entered the vessel House of Wisdom . . .”

  The woman’s voice droned so calmly she might have been a machine, but the words filled me with dread. Adam would hear a threat, no matter how mildly she spoke. To him, the message was proof that he had been right all along. They had always been after us. They would never leave us alone. The family would be frightened, the children crying, Adam raging. She ought not to have mentioned Homestead’s safety. That would only tell them they had none.

  Malachi said, “There’s a reply. Sent about an hour ago.”

  An hour. We had been out of contact so long. I nodded minutely.

  “You dare call us criminals?” Adam’s voice boomed from the speakers so loudly I jumped. “You dare accuse us of endangering our children? We have lived our entire lives beneath the boots of your oppression, and you speak to us of your laws? Save your breath and your condescension. We have no need for your lies. We have broken free of the chains you use to bind us. We have achieved the frontier you would deny us. We are prepared to make great sacrifices to keep our freedom. There is no fate worse than surrendering to be your prisoners again.”

  A fragile hope, so small I had barely acknowledged it, splintered.

  “Are you prepared to sacrifice your children to enslave us? Are you?” Adam spat out the question derisively; even without seeing his face, I knew his expression would be twisted with scorn. “Go and ask your masters. Ask them how many of their beloved children have to die. Ask them which we ought to kill first.”

  The message ended. My heart was hammering in my throat. Tens of thousands of kilometers of empty space between us, and I feared Adam’s anger as though he were right beside me.

  “We need to talk to them.” I swallowed painfully. “We have to make him understand it’s too dangerous to come here.”

  Malachi didn’t move. “You want to contact Homestead?”

  There was something in his voice that made me look at him. “They can’t come here. You know that. You haven’t been able to shut off the security web yet, and even if you could—”

  “I know.” The words were soft, but there was something in Malachi’s voice that tightened the knot of fear in my throat. “But, Zahra . . .”

  “You don’t think they’ll listen,” I said.

  “I don’t think Adam listens to anybody when they’re telling him something he doesn’t want to hear. Zahra, he’s ranting about being enslaved. He’s not rational. I don’t think the drones will deter him, and I don’t think the virus will either.”

  “He’s only . . .” Only what? It was so hard to know anymore where Adam’s hyperbole ended and his true beliefs began. I had never cared before, when his hatred of the Councils was driving us to achieve a dream that should have been impossible. When I had thought he was saving the family, and my brother and sister, not endangering them.

  “We need to contact Pangong,” Malachi said. “We have to tell them what’s going on.”

  I stared at him. “You want to contact SPEC before we talk to Adam?”

  “Adam won’t listen.”

  “Maybe not, but he’s not the one piloting Homestead. Orvar will listen. He won’t want to endanger the family. He wants to keep everybody safe.”

  Malachi turned to the control panel. “Okay. We can try. Do you want visual?”

  “Yes.” It would be better for them to see my face. My mouth was dry, my head aching, my entire body sore from the bruises I knew must be purpling my skin. One look was all Orvar would need to understand how dire our situation was. “Go on.”

  It took only a few seconds for the encrypted transmission to go through, but it felt like an eternity before Orvar’s face appeared on the terminal. His expression was grim, his hair wild, his flight suit loosened at the collar. There was a cacophony of noise around him.

  “Where the hell have you been? SPEC is tracking us. The dark ship Boudicca saw is real,” Orvar said.

  “We know,” Malachi said. “We’ve heard their warning.”

  “Tell me you’ve got good news.”

  “I need to talk to Adam,” I said.

  A hush fell over the bridge of Homestead. Orvar’s eyes narrowed. Two young men appeared behind him, leaning down to peer at the terminal. My skin prickled with unease.

  “Where’s Dag? Henke?” Orvar asked.

  “Henke is dead,” I said. “One of the hostages killed him. I need to talk to Adam immediately.”

  Orvar nodded at one of the young men, who grimaced but obeyed. He looked so very young, and so very scared, as he turned to leave the bridge.

  “How far away is the SPEC ship?” Malachi asked.

  “Quarter million klicks,” Orvar said grimly. “They’re not hiding anymore. A bit less. Can’t you see it?”

  “We’re having trouble getting the systems online,” Malachi said.

  “I don’t like the sound of that. He isn’t going to . . .” Orvar glanced over his shoulder. “It’s Zahra again.”

  “Zahra!”

  My heart stuttered—I made a small sound of surprise—and I was reaching for the screen without thinking. That was not Adam’s voice. Malachi caught my hand before I could do anything to disrupt the transmission, and for one irrational second I hated him for it, for pulling me away from them.

  Anwar appeared first. In the months since I had last seen them, the twins had passed their fifteenth birthday. Anwar had grown even taller, and his black hair was too long, drifting around his fa
ce in unruly curls. His boyish limbs were even thinner than they had been. He smiled, but it was a wary, muted smile. He raised a hand in awkward greeting.

  “Hey, Zahra,” said my brother, his voice so much more like a man’s than I recalled. He glanced to the side, a question plain on his face, as though he was awaiting instruction for what to say. There was no reason for him to be on the bridge. The children were meant to be safe in the passenger cabins.

  A second later Nadra came into view. With her was Adam. He had his arm hooked around her skinny shoulders. He was smiling. Nadra was not. He pushed her to stand behind Orvar; she hunched her shoulders and let herself be steered.

  “Zahra, tell us the good news!” Adam said. “We’ve been waiting far too long.”

  His voice was bright, his tone cheerful, but there was a manic light in his eyes. I did not like the way Nadra was leaning away from him. I did not like the way she glanced at the comm, then looked away quickly, as though she could not bear to see me. I ached to reach across space and hug her, to pull her away from Adam and tease her into smiling. We could not make a home together aboard House of Wisdom, but anywhere, anywhere would be better than being apart.

  I reached for Malachi’s hand and tried to draw comfort from his warmth. I looked straight into the camera. “I don’t have good news for you, Adam. Everything I have to tell you is bad.”

  Adam’s eyes narrowed. Nadra flinched as he dug his fingers into her shoulder.

  He said, “We are depending on you, Zahra. Tell me what has happened.”

  “You can’t come here,” I said. “House of Wisdom is too dangerous. We can’t make it safe. Henke is dead, and we have no protection against the virus. One of the hostages is infected, she got infected through a scrape, not from the air. All it took was the slightest contact. The people here didn’t just get sick—it’s so much worse than that. It wasn’t an outbreak, Adam. It was a massacre.”

  He was gripping Nadra’s shoulder so hard his fingers pressed indentations in her sleeve. “Zahra, my girl, you are hysterical. You don’t know what you’re saying. Where is Panya? Where is Dag?”

  “I am not hysterical,” I said. “We’ve found information SPEC never had, a log recording from one of the scientists before she died. The virus isn’t Zeffir-1. It never was. It is not safe here. We can’t bring children to this place.”

  “Can you even hear the hateful things you are saying?” Adam demanded, his voice rising with alarm. “You pretend to care about keeping them safe? As though turning them over to the oppressors is safe? As though offering ourselves up for capture is safe? You are speaking from fear and cowardice.”

  “I’m not,” I said. “I’m telling you what we’ve found. I’m telling you we cannot make a home here. We can’t even turn on the lights, Adam. We have no way of turning off the security web. We got the shuttle through because we had the right genetic signature, but the drones will attack Homestead. They might be powerful enough to completely disable it. And even if we could—everyone aboard died by terrible violence. Everything SPEC told us about the virus was a lie. The girl was infected through a scratch. She killed Henke and fled, and now she’s out there somewhere in the ship. We can’t find her because we can’t do anything. Do you understand what I’m saying? She went mad from a single scratch.” I took a shaky breath. I was holding Malachi’s hand so tightly it had to hurt, but he did not pull away. “Please listen to me. Please. You can’t come here.”

  The other members of the bridge crew had left their stations to gather around Adam, their expressions ranging from disbelief to naked fear. Anwar was staring at me, and Nadra had finally lifted her eyes from the floor.

  “Adam, you trusted Zahra to make this judgment,” Malachi said. “Listen to her.”

  “You would have us give up on our dreams when we are so close,” Adam said.

  “I would have us survive,” I retorted.

  “You would destroy everything I have worked for.”

  “I don’t want us to go mad and slaughter each other like—”

  “You would send your brother and sister to the prisons of the oppressors without a thought. That is what you are doing. Are we no more than animals to you, Zahra? Have you grown power mad in your time away from me?”

  “Adam,” Orvar said hesitantly. He glanced over his shoulder. “If the virus is still a threat—”

  “It is,” Malachi said. “It is absolutely a threat.”

  “You are cowards,” Adam spat, his face contorting with anger. “You are weak, foolish cowards. You have betrayed me even worse than the liars and deceivers. They are cruel, but you are so much worse, because you let me believe you would help me.”

  “Adam, take a minute to think about it. We need time to figure out our plan,” Orvar said.

  “There is no time!” Adam roared. Nadra ducked away from him and turned into Anwar’s arms; she hid her face against his shoulder. “I have given your orders and you will follow them.”

  “I know we were supposed to break free,” I said, but I was speaking to Orvar now, not Adam. My voice was raw, my entire body trembling. I needed him to hear me. “We were supposed to find a home. But this isn’t it. This ship is a death trap. Orvar. Please. You can’t bring them here.”

  “It’s a terrible thing,” Orvar said, and he sounded so tired, so much older than he had ever seemed before, “to let yourself dream of something better after you thought you’d forgotten how.” He glanced down and tapped something on his terminal. “This is the captain speaking.” His voice trembled. “We’ll be initiating a low-g course correction burn in—”

  There was a loud crack, like a bone breaking. Orvar’s head snapped to the side with an eruption of blood. Anwar screamed, and the bridge crew was shouting, scrambling against each other, shoving away from the terminal.

  The shot had blown off half of Orvar’s face. His remaining brown eye stared blankly from the ruin of blood and shattered bone.

  Adam pushed Orvar’s body aside and looked into the camera. I had not even seen the weapon in his hand. His pale eyes were blazing and wild. Blood and bits of skull and brain had splattered across his face. Spit flew from his lips as he spoke.

  “You disgust me. You are traitors. You have chosen death. You have chosen betrayal. You are as weak as your father, Zahra, and the blood on your hands will be so much greater than any of his pathetic crimes. Everything that happens now is your fault. You have destroyed everything.”

  “No!” I found my voice again. “Please, Adam, Adam, listen, you have to listen to me, you have to—”

  He had ended the transmission.

  [data corruption] keep thinking of an old song the aunties used to sing in the nursery, right after the captain announced we had a date for landfall. Everybody was celebrating, laughing, throwing parties, making plans. It’s been stuck in my head and I can’t shake it. Hope and joy in the forests ahead. Hope and joy on the plains. Hope and joy. They had no idea what was waiting for [data corruption] so long since I’ve slept. They’ve gone quiet. That’s worse than the screams. With the screams at least I knew [data corruption]

  —FRAGMENT 5, MOURNFUL EVENING SONG VIA UC33-X

  JAS

  I have few memories of my life before House of Wisdom, but this is one: a clear, quiet night shortly before we left, at my aunt’s lake house in the hills above Dharamsala, sitting by my mother on the dock as cool air tickled my skin and stars glinted overhead.

  “Where is it?” I had asked, wanting to see the ship that would be our home.

  My mother’s arm was warm around my shoulders; her long hair tickled my cheek. Her voice was full of joy. “You can’t see it from here. It’s too far away. But it’s up there. It’s ready for us.”

  Our journey seemed to me little more than a holiday. I was four years old and baffled by all the manic energy and urgency that had gripped my parents in those final days of preparation. I as
ked how long we were going to stay.

  Mum laughed and said, “It’s going to be a long, long time. But I bet that as soon as we’re up there, you won’t want to come back at all. We’re going to have so many adventures. There’s so much to see. Just you wait.”

  She kissed my cheek. I squirmed in her arms. I did not know if I ought to laugh too.

  “Oh, Jas,” she said, “I’m so excited to get up there I could float away.”

  * * *

  • • •

  I had imagined my mother’s death a thousand times, but never like this.

  They looked so calm in the officers’ room. Side by side, my mother and the captain, as though they had sat down for a routine briefing and never rose again.

  I had always believed that she must have died much the same as my father: overcome with panic, tearing her own skin. A spray of blood. Thick screams. My mother, who did everything deliberately and thoughtfully, made mindless with fear.

  I reached for the door. Xiomara grabbed for my hand, and Baqir said, “Jas, wait.” I ignored them. At my touch, the panel flashed green and the door slid open. I passed through and bumped into the foot of the table.

  I had not been in this room before, had only glimpsed it from the outside the one time I visited the bridge. There had been a ceremony or celebration of some sort; all of the chief science staff were invited. My mother had spent the hour talking to other engineers about an upcoming propulsion test, but my father, having no interest in their engineering chatter, had instead gazed at the massive screens that showed the view outside. We were passing Jupiter. The true view of the planet was from much farther away, but on the bridge screens it was magnified and glorious. Its red eye, endlessly whirling, had been as big as my father’s head. I was eight or nine, just old enough to feel a pang of embarrassment at the childlike wonder on his face, not old enough to keep from staring as well.

  Baqir followed me into the officers’ room. It was so quiet I could hear him swallow as he considered his words. “They don’t look infected,” he said.