Salvation Day

by Kali Wallace

  —FRAGMENT 6, MOURNFUL EVENING SONG VIA UC33-X

  ZAHRA

  Get them back.” I slapped at the terminal. Anwar’s screams still rang in my ears. “Get them back!”

  “Zahra.” Malachi reached for my hand.

  I shook him off. “We need to talk to them. We have to make them understand.”

  “He won’t listen,” Malachi said. “Zahra. He’s not going to listen.”

  I didn’t want him to be right. I could not have failed so badly that there was no way to fix it. Adam had flown into rages before. He had made irrational and dangerous decisions. It was our responsibility to ease the hurt, to protect him from the petty cruelties of life so that he might lead us—or so he had always claimed. The punishment for failing was swift and great. When the lashes were counted, when the banished were driven away, we told ourselves the transgressors deserved it. Only the disloyal failed to do what Adam needed them to do.

  There was a hard knot in my chest, right between my lungs. I had done everything Adam asked of me. But our dream was built on a lie. Nothing Adam could do, no speech he could give, no punishment he could render, would change that.

  “We have to do something,” I said. The words scraped my throat, and tears stung my eyes.

  “We’ll contact SPEC,” Malachi said. There was no hesitation in his voice, not the least hint of doubt. “We’ll contact that ship that’s been waiting.”

  “Why would SPEC help us?” I said, incredulous. “That’s not what they do. They’ll throw us in prison. They’ll tear the family apart. You know that. You’re not thinking clearly.”

  “We need help.” His voice was calm and unyielding, his expression solemn, but as he spoke my skin prickled.

  “What do you mean, waiting?” I asked. “Waiting for what? Waiting for us?”

  “Zahra. We don’t have much time.”

  “Do you think they knew we were coming here? But they could have stopped us at Civita Station if they . . . You said that.” My voice faltered, dropping to a hoarse whisper. “You just said that. If they wanted to stop us, they could have.”

  “Zahra,” Malachi said quietly.

  I needed him to stop saying my name. “How did they know we were coming here? Did you tell them? Did you go to them? Is that how you were able to get through the security net? What did they promise you?” My voice was rising, my hands shaking, anger washing over me like a storm. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t even look surprised by the accusation, and that was the worst reaction I could have imagined. “Do you hate us that much?”

  “I don’t hate you,” Malachi said.

  “Don’t fucking lie to me. You betrayed us. What did they offer you? Did they offer to make you a citizen? Was that your price for betraying Adam? Betraying us?”

  “Zahra. That’s not what happened. I came from SPEC.”

  I stared at him. “What?”

  “I’ve been a Councils citizen since I was a child.”

  “But you . . . you came to us.”

  “I found the homestead because I was looking for it. That was my assignment.”

  I could barely speak. “I don’t believe you.”

  But I did, and I could not even manage disdain enough to hide the crushing feeling of dismay. He was a SPEC agent. He had been a traitor all along. The stories he had told about applying for citizenship, being turned away at the border, giving up hope, they were lies. I had thought he was my friend.

  “Why?” I asked. “Why would you do that? Did they send you for Adam?”

  Malachi shook his head. “I wasn’t looking for Adam. My mission had nothing to do with him. The Councils don’t care about him. They’ve never cared about him. There are men like him all over the desert, building wretched little kingdoms that collapse as soon as they’re made. He was never a target. Do you understand what I’m saying, Zahra? SPEC has never been interested in Adam or his followers.”

  “But the raids. The sicknesses. The disappearances.”

  All the times Adam had claimed we had to stay one step ahead of the Councils to survive their schemes. All the times he insisted our crops had failed because they were poisoning our fields. Every single time we lost members of our family and Adam said they had been stolen away by the Councils, taken to interrogation chambers deep beneath a secret base, tortured for our secrets. All the drills, the patrols, the preparation for midnight raids, the punishments dealt to anybody who compromised our safety and security.

  Malachi’s voice was full of pity. “He’s always been very good at convincing the family that you need him.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I said again.

  But I had never seen the Councils soldiers surrounding our homestead; I had only heard the sirens and Adam’s exhortations to stand strong. I had never tasted poison in our food or water; I had only learned how hard it was to scrape a living from the ailing desert wasteland. I had never seen any family members dragged away by Councils agents. I had only ever seen them walk away, and never return.

  It had all been a lie. We were never in any danger. Our only prison had been the fevered paranoia of Adam’s mind. Our greatest weakness was how easily we believed him.

  “Then what were you looking for?” I asked. “What does SPEC want from us?”

  “I was looking for you. Your family.”

  I could not breathe.

  “My mission was to locate Gregory Lago’s widow. Mariah Dove.”

  It had been so long since I had heard my mother’s name spoken aloud.

  “SPEC Intel believed she had to know something about her husband’s actions. We needed to know who he had been working with and how he acquired a Pre-Collapse biological weapon that was supposed to be locked away in a secure archive. Dr. Dove had done immunological research. She visited several laboratories in her career.”

  “Danzmayr’s disease,” I said weakly. “That’s what she studied. She was looking for a cure. She hated that the Councils didn’t devote the necessary resources to it because it only affected North Americans. She never knew anything about what happened here. But they didn’t believe her. They hounded her at the hospital, everywhere she went.”

  “I know,” Malachi said.

  “They never left us alone. That’s why she took us to the desert.”

  “I know.” He cleared his throat. “By the time we confirmed she didn’t know anything, we had already learned about Adam’s plan. The orders were to observe and report. To see how far it would go. Not to interfere.”

  “Your orders.”

  He said nothing.

  “You keep saying we. But it was you. You were spying on us.”

  “Zahra,” he said. I had never heard my name like that, a wound torn open.

  Six years ago a dirty, bedraggled, starvation-thin young man had walked out of the desert, and it had been no accident. He had not stumbled upon our homestead because it was the only source of warmth and light for miles. He had not scuffed his bare feet on the rocks behind me because I was the least threatening guard; he had been looking for me all along. I had brought him to meet Adam and my family. We had listened, rapt, to his stories of hardship and humiliation at the hands of the Councils. My mother had given him a mug of hot tea and smiled when he thanked her. She always tried to bring comfort to those who needed it.

  “How long have you worked for them?” I asked.

  “Nine years.”

  Something inside me crumpled, the last ashy log of a fire falling to dust. He was older than he looked. They would have chosen him because he was so nonthreatening, with his brown eyes and curly hair, his kind smile.

  My vision blurred with tears. “Why didn’t you stop us? Why did you let us come here, if you knew what it was like?”

  “Zahra,” Malachi said. He moved his hand, as though to reach for mine, but did not. “I didn’t know it was like this. I swear to y
ou, we didn’t know. I had no idea there were secrets SPEC was keeping even from its own people.”

  “Somebody must have known. The people you work for? None of them knew?”

  “The mission was to observe and report,” Malachi said. “And retrieve data.”

  “Retrieve—you mean from the ship. Have you been doing that?”

  For the briefest second, Malachi’s lips twitched with a wry smile. “I was until Panya took my skeleton key.”

  If what Malachi was saying was true, we had been nothing more than a means by which SPEC Intelligence could sneak an agent aboard—a mission the Councils had been refusing to authorize for ten years.

  “You’re not even supposed to be here,” I said. “Officially. Are you?”

  Malachi’s smile was gone. “You know what? I have no fucking idea. I know what my handler thinks I should know. And until we got to this place, I thought that he’d told me everything. But now . . .” He exhaled sharply, his breath a thin white cloud. “There are people in SPEC who have wanted to come back to House of Wisdom for years. I guess somebody got tired of waiting.”

  The worst of it, I thought, was that I had once believed I could tell when he was lying. But he had been lying to me for six years—and to people far more suspicious than me. He had convinced Boudicca, who had been a SPEC pilot herself. He had convinced Adam, who saw spies and traitors in every shadow. He had convinced all of us.

  “My mother never knew anything,” I said. “And my father did not kill anybody. Your whole mission was pointless before it even began.”

  “I know that now,” he said. “And I will make sure everybody knows it. I will make sure the whole world knows it. I promise you, Zahra, I will see that they learn the truth. But we can’t do that alone. I’m contacting Pangong. Captain Chavannes will help.”

  He was not asking for agreement. “Pangong, this is House of Wisdom. Captain Chavannes, do you copy?” He adjusted something and tried again. “Pangong, this is House of Wisdom. Do you copy? I don’t understand. The radio is functional, but the transmission is blocked by a new command code—shit.”

  A low hum rose from the walls and machines around us. I felt it as much as I heard it, a vibration born in my bones, at the base of my throat, behind my eyes. I looked around frantically, but Malachi’s attention was fixed on the terminal.

  “Shit,” he said again. He tapped in a series of commands, but nothing happened. “Shit shit shit!”

  “What is it? What’s that sound?” I asked.

  “It’s the ship,” Malachi said. “It’s waking up. Panya and Dag are on the bridge.”

  My stomach twisted. “They have control of the ship?”

  “Not yet,” Malachi said with an expression that was almost a smile, or a grimace. “My skeleton key can only get them so far. We have to stop them before they get farther.”

  * * *

  • • •

  The ring corridor around the ship’s bridge was lit with bright white light. I had thought the low dormancy red was bad, giving the ship a dingy look no matter where we went, but with the glaring emergency lights on, House of Wisdom looked even more like a derelict. There were splatters of blood with no attendant corpses, handprint smears along the wall, discarded tools floating in corners, doors scratched, panels smashed, wires exposed.

  To say that Malachi and I had a plan would be more generous than we deserved. All we knew was that we had to get onto the bridge. We could not risk allowing Panya and Dag to control this ship and welcome Homestead to House of Wisdom.

  “Get over there. Move.”

  I stopped at the sound of Dag’s voice from up ahead. His words were firm, with a trace of impatience.

  The answer came from a woman: “Okay, okay. We’re going.”

  I felt only a small pang of surprise. They had found the hostages. I pulled myself along the curved wall until I saw the entrance to the bridge. Malachi was right behind me. I had no idea what he was thinking. I didn’t know who he was, now that he had shed his false persona. I didn’t even know if Malachi was his real name. He nodded, urging me through the door.

  It was not Panya or Dag who noticed me first. It was the woman who had killed Henke. The one who had taken his weapon and fled. Ariana.

  “What is she doing here?” Malachi said, his voice ringing with the same surprise I felt.

  Panya and Dag both turned to face us. Dag was guarding the hostages, his weapon raised.

  Panya was seated at a terminal. When she looked up, her expression brightened. “Oh! I am so glad to see you!”

  I stared at her in disbelief. “You’re glad to see us?”

  “What is she doing here?” Malachi said again, pointing at Ariana. “She’s infected. She can’t be here.”

  She didn’t look infected. She looked scared, and a bit angry, but perfectly in control. She no longer had Henke’s gun. She and the other hostages had their backs to a glass wall on the far side of the bridge. Bhattacharya’s friend, Nassar, was badly hurt; his prosthetic arm had been twisted at a horrible angle, and there was blood from his shoulder soaking the collar of his shirt.

  Behind the glass wall there were ten, fifteen, twenty corpses, all shoved haphazardly into a room too small to hold them. It was a puzzle-tangle of limbs and faces. I could not bear to look at it. I could not look away.

  Panya laughed. “Don’t be so gullible. She was never infected. It was a ruse to help them escape.”

  “It wasn’t,” Ariana said. “We’ve already told them. I was infected.”

  “We know. We’ve learned more about the virus,” Malachi said.

  “We can show you,” I said, aware of the desperate whine in my voice. “There’s a message from one of the scientists. Panya, Dag, please listen. She’s infected. It was in the blood. It’s always been in the blood.”

  “She seems fine to me,” Dag said.

  “Because we incapacitated the parasite,” Bhattacharya said. “We don’t know if it’s permanent.”

  “Convenient, isn’t it?” Panya said. She held up a black weapon—not a gun, but a nonlethal suppression weapon, not something we had brought aboard. “They claim to have used this. But these are all over the ship and they didn’t help anybody before, did they? Come here, Malachi. We need your help.”

  “We’re not going to help you,” I said, incredulous. “You tried to kill us!”

  Before he could answer, Panya sent the suppression weapon spinning away across the bridge and took her gun from her holster. She pointed it at me. “Zahra, you’re being hysterical. You know that transgressions against the good of the family must be punished. Malachi will turn off the security web so Homestead can approach safely.”

  I was so angry I was trembling. “But if they can incapacitate the—did you call it a parasite? Not a virus?”

  “They’re talking nonsense,” Dag said. “Don’t listen to them.”

  “We are not!” Xiomara said. “For fuck’s sake, listen to us!”

  A parasite, I thought. Dr. Summers had not known. But she had believed it was a weapon, sent back by Mournful Evening Song. A parasite could be a weapon as easily as a virus.

  Panya gestured impatiently. “Malachi, don’t make me ask again.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Security drones first. Then you’re going to fly the ship.”

  He glanced at me as he shouldered past, a lightning-quick look I could not read, and moved toward Panya’s terminal and reached over her shoulder. She grabbed his wrist and twisted herself out of her chair, turning to face him. She held his wrist so tightly he flinched; the tips of her nails broke his skin, and droplets of blood welled around her grimy, clenching fingers. There was a bite mark on Panya’s hand, a neat half-moon of punctured skin. I wondered which of the hostages had done that.

  “You will do exactly what I tell you and nothing else,” Panya sai
d. “Do you understand? Please don’t make this difficult for us.”

  Malachi tried to pull his arm away. Panya only dug in harder.

  “Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” he said. “Let go of me.”

  Panya tilted her head to one side, the same way she always did when she was trying to intimidate somebody. When I was younger, I had found that look crushing, to know I had disappointed her so badly, but now I saw only an empty coldness. The calm I had always taken for serenity seemed to me now to be the same calm of a snake before it struck.

  She let go of Malachi’s wrist. He slid into the seat and set to work, calling up report after report, switching between displays, moving so fast it was impossible to tell if he was following Panya’s directive or not. He couldn’t be. He was a SPEC agent. He had to be working for his own agenda, not hers. But I didn’t know enough to be certain—nor, I hoped, did Panya.

  “Tell me about the parasite,” I said to Bhattacharya. “How did you kill it?”

  “Stop humoring them, Zahra,” Panya said idly.

  “Electric shock.” Bhattacharya glanced at Ariana as he spoke, but she said nothing. She was looking steadily at Dag, her gaze focused on his weapon. Bhattacharya went on, “It’s biomechanical. We think the shock shorted it out.”

  “We found out by accident,” Xiomara said.

  They had gotten away, then they had been caught again, and now there was a room of corpses at their backs and a weapon aimed at their heads. I could not tell if they were lying. I could not guess what reason they might have. I knew, in their place, I would say anything to placate my captors, and this did not seem to be placating Panya.

  “Dag, make them stop talking,” Panya said. She nudged Malachi’s shoulder with her weapon. “Well? Can you restart the rest of the systems?”

  “As far as I can tell, the ship’s engines are functioning normally.” Malachi didn’t look away from the screens, didn’t look at any of us. “There are a lot of systems failure alerts, but nothing critical. Nothing to keep the ship from traveling. Is that what you wanted to know?”