The new girl looks startled. “That’s definitely not what they said happened.”
Rion’s brows are drawn tight, and I’m sure I look the same; I feel like all the blood has drained out of my body, and my back is itchy, like there are a thousand eyes tracking my every move. Zee’s face has gone even paler than usual, but Case looks about ready to boil over with anger, all traces of panic gone.
“All those people,” she says, then chokes off, shakes her head and tries again. “No one noticed a damned thing? There were thousands of students there! And teachers, and people working in the rest of the station. I know those murdering assholes snuck in and kept it quiet, but I thought someone must have figured it out by now. What are they going to do, just step over all the bodies and carry on like normal forever?”
“If they had highly ranked help on the inside, it would have been easy,” Zee says, matter-of-fact. “There’s no other way. The people who make the hourly reports—they must have been in on it, gotten themselves to safety or worn vacuum suits before the attack.”
“And they could have hidden people in the old abandoned station up there, the original one,” Rion adds. “People waiting to move in and get the station running again as fast as possible.”
“Why, though?” Case demands, drifting closer until our shoulders touch. I lean in, letting the contact comfort me while she talks. “Why the station? Why did they have to . . . ?”
“We have to get a message back to Earth,” Rion says. “We don’t know who those people are or what their plan is, but it can’t be good if they’re keeping it hush from Earth and they’re willing to kill thousands to make it happen. I can think of tons of groups who might want to control the only sanctioned way off the Rock. They could be anyone. I still don’t want to go back to Earth, but getting the word out should be our first priority.”
“Yes!” I say, seizing the idea with a thrill of hope. “If we send them the footage from the flight recorder—”
“They’ve cut off courier service to Earth,” the new girl interjects, and just like that, all my half-formed hopes of being a hero come crashing down. I slump back against the rough brick wall behind me, stunned.
“Completely?” I ask after a moment, through a mouth that feels like it’s full of cotton. “There’s no way around it?”
The girl shakes her head and peeks over her shoulder. “They aren’t just restricting who can get a message onto the ships. The ships aren’t running. The one carrying your wanted notice was the last one for the next few days. I’ll show you the notice once we’re not crammed in an alley around the corner from the police station. So unless you’ve invented some magical supertransmitter that can send messages across the galaxy . . .”
No contact with Earth at all. We can’t warn anyone. Even if we stole a ship right now and jumped back to Earth space, we’d be shot down long before we made it close enough to the planet to beam down a message. I can’t even send a note to my parents to say, “Hey, I know I’ve fucked up a lot, but this time it really wasn’t me and I swear I’d never do those things.” They’re just going to sit there together on their twenty-year-old couch and think the worst of me. Again.
I cover my eyes for a moment, then let my hand flop back to my side. “What can we do?”
“Well . . . you can live, for now,” the new girl says. The lines of her eyes are stern, but they have a sparkle to them, and there’s a little quirk at the corner of her lips. “Everything you want to accomplish, all your thrilling heroics, save the Earth, you can only do it if you’re alive and free.”
Case’s eyes narrow, and she finally says what’s been bugging me the whole time. “What’s in this for you? Why are you helping wanted criminals?”
Zee nods, her stance widening. Is she getting ready to kick again? “I’m wondering the same. Why should we trust you?”
I’m glad these two are on my side. Between Case’s fierce intelligence and Zee’s cool efficiency (and kicking prowess), I feel like the two of them could have me dead in a dumpster and move on with their lives in a hot second.
The new girl sighs and looks over her shoulder, then back at us with impatience. “Because I can make it happen. I know a way we can get off this planet and slip under the noses of enforcement, but it’s not possible with only one person.” She pauses, takes a deep breath. “And I’ve been trying to find people who can help me pull it off who aren’t creepy old convicts or murderers. When I saw your wanted notice, I thought it might be you. A mutually beneficial arrangement. You get what you need, and I get a way off this planet and away from some family issues I’d like to be rid of.”
She takes a step back and looks each of us in the eye. “This is all contingent upon a thorough background check, of course. Just a fair warning, I’ll be hacking every available file on you all to make sure you’re not going to kill me in my sleep. No offense.”
The noise of the crowd on the next block over surges suddenly. Shouts, running feet, a rush of frenzied gossiping. That can’t be good. I make a quick decision. “Look, we’re way low on sleep and I don’t think a dark alley is the place to be making a choice like this. Can we rest somewhere and talk privately?”
“Of course,” she says, cocking her head to listen to the crowd noise. A burst of shouts echoes from around the corner, and our young guide from earlier darts into view. He looks both ways and spots us immediately.
“They’re over here!” he calls over his shoulder, waving forward what turns out to be a group of uniformed enforcement officers. Can we please catch a break?
The girl in the hijab rolls her eyes and yanks the edge of her scarf so it falls slightly more in front of her face while she scrambles for her tablet again.
“Follow me!” she says, and sprints down a branching back alley with a quick backward glance to make sure we’re following.
I hesitate for the barest moment before charging after her, the others hot on my heels. She’d better know some sort of secret route, because enforcement is calling for backup as they chase us. Nothing seems to slow them down, not the trash bins, not the lines of freshly laundered sheets flapping behind an apartment building or the farm shop’s pen of geese we piss off on our way around the corner.
The ominous clank of a gun cocking echoes through the narrow alleyway behind us. Don’t think about bullets flying past you for the third time in as many hours. Just run.
“You know,” Zee calls after us, sounding perfectly calm and not even slightly out of breath, “if we’re going to trust you, a name would really help.”
The girl spares me a quick glance as I run beside her, and she smiles without slowing, the first non-glaring look she’s given me. It’s a lovely thing, briefly glimpsed; no teeth, just an upturning of red lips, like a secret. She taps her tab, and her face flickers again into a new, unrecognizable mask.
“You can call me Asra. You’re safe with me. I promise.”
As the sun begins to dip toward the horizon, Asra leads us deeper and deeper into the shadowy parts of the city, away from both our pursuit and the clean, glittering buildings of Old Saleem.
Hopefully it’s not another trap.
Four
IT TAKES AN HOUR OF sneaking through back alleys and hiding behind dumpsters to lose the enforcers. By the time we arrive at Asra’s tiny one-bedroom flat, we’re exhausted, starving, and so thoroughly screwed I can hardly comprehend the situation.
We all sit huddled around the low coffee table on the floor, scraping our bowls of rice and chickpeas clean while a soccer game plays on the main screen. It’s an old game, one that aired on Earth before I left for the Academy. Rather than watching the Carolina Racers get annihilated again, I take in the far better entertainment of Rion and Zee arguing over Premier League teams and trash-talking on FIFA.
Zee has lost all traces of her calm, even softness in the face of football politics, her cheeks flushed with the passion of her argument. Rion, for his part, manages to distract her with smooth talk and cutting jokes at FI
FA’s expense, then goes in for the kill once she’s laughing too hard to fight back right away.
Across the table, Asra has managed to lure Case into a low-voiced discussion about some old classic book series I’ve never read, something about griffin doors and wizards. Case is the most relaxed I’ve seen her so far, her eyes bright as she geeks out over some character with a weird last name. She looks younger without all the anxiety pinching the corners of her eyes, like she’s fifteen instead of nearly nineteen. Asra gestures to one of the dozens of pieces of dazzling paper crafts around the apartment, apparently one themed after the book, and Case brightens. Asra must be quite the crafting queen.
I have nothing to contribute to either discussion, so I stand and stretch, casting a nervous glance at the windows. Asra catches the look and shoots me a reassuring smile as she takes her bowl to the sink.
“You’ll be safe here for now, so long as you don’t show your face in the window or out on the street without a disguise. No one in this neighborhood is a snitch, especially not Nani.”
The glorious savory smells of Nani’s cooking drift up through the floorboards of the living room as she gets the restaurant ready for the dinner service. Every surface in the flat is coated with a thin layer of cooking oils, though Asra doesn’t seem to mind.
“She’s my mum-away-from-mum. I can’t say a single bad thing about her,” she says, wiping down her place at the dingy table with a damp rag. “Nani lets me stay here for free, and I do some work for her in return. She has an iron tongue; no one will get a word out of her about you.”
Zee smiles with a bit of a wistful, unfocused look. Lost in a memory? She shakes her head and asks, “What kind of work do you do for her? Are you a server at the restaurant?”
“Hacking, mostly,” Asra says, matter-of-fact. “A little net security work here and there. She’s a feisty one. Don’t want to get on the wrong side of her politics, that’s for certain.”
Case cocks her head, a shadow of a grin forming. “I bet the same could be said for you.”
Asra smirks. “I bet it could.”
I hate to break the chill we have going, especially with my eyes begging to fall shut, but we really need to figure out what the plan is here before I pass out on the floor. I catch Asra’s eye, and she nods and pulls out a tablet. She takes a moment to connect to the citywide public Wi-Fi and sync with the wall screen, then looks up.
“Are you ready to see this?” she asks, her finger hovering over the local news app.
I glance over the rim of my bowl at the others. Rion is unreadable, staring blankly at the nothing on the screen. Case shreds her napkin into tiny pieces, collecting them neatly in her bowl. Zee is the only one who meets my eyes, passing me a fresh cup of tea as she does. I didn’t even notice mine was empty, but the steam and scent of honey ground me in exactly the way I need right now. I smile at Zee, take a sip, then nod to Asra.
“No use putting it off. Let’s see it.”
As soon as the app loads, the screen fills with red blinking pop-ups: wanted notices, satellite and amateur video of our shuttle crash, and images of our footprints in the sand. There’s even a crystal-clear picture of the backs of our heads, accompanied by the time and location of the sighting and a call to all citizens of al-Rihla to report any knowledge of our whereabouts in exchange for a hefty reward.
Cold horror floods through my veins; next to me, Case sucks in a sharp breath and grips the edge of the table.
Worst of all is the video notice that autoplays as soon as it’s loaded. The face of the speaker is instantly familiar—Dr. Maia Herrera, the headmaster of Ellis Station Academy, who sat in on all of our entrance interviews and signed the paperwork that officially kicked us out, who Rion spoke with right before the attack. She looks . . . utterly normal. Uniform neatly pressed. Not a hair out of place. Calm. Collected. Not at all like thousands of people just died on her watch. Her voice is even and soothing as she speaks.
“This message was recorded on 10-08-2194, 22:13 Universal Time, for distribution to all Global Colonization Commission worlds on the first available courier ship.”
Minutes after the attack. How?
“This is Headmaster M. Herrera, reporting from Ellis Station Academy. On behalf of the Academy and all Ellis Station personnel, I want to apologize for any concern our brief disruption in communication may have caused. Late this evening, our station was attacked on two fronts.”
My breath catches in my throat. Case goes absolutely still.
The message continues. “One attack was internal. Four young students who were refused final entry to the Academy stole a shuttle and fled Earth-controlled space, causing damage to the station’s primary transmitter and killing several personnel in the process. Information and images of the alleged thieves, along with the treason and lesser charges being brought against them, are attached to this notice. After an analysis of their flight path and cockpit footage of our engagement with their shuttle, we have determined that they have likely crash-landed on the colony world of al-Rihla.”
On my other side, Rion’s expression crumples. “What? That complete and utter . . . She, of all people . . . I was talking to her right before we left. I thought she looked distracted. Guess now I know why.”
A man steps into the frame next to Dr. Herrera, wearing the crisp uniform of a captain in the GCC military division. She nods to him, then turns back to the camera. “Captain Thomas will be leading the pursuit of these suspects with his air-and-ground tactical unit, Tiger Squadron. All colony governments are asked to give Captain Thomas and his team full cooperation in the recovery of the fugitives.”
The name of the squadron sends an immediate jolt of pure adrenaline to my system, and suddenly, instead of sitting calmly around a table, I’m wrestling with the controls of the ship, dodging bullets and cringing away from the piercing shriek of the missile lock warning.
I suck in a ragged breath. “That’s the squadron that nearly shot us down right after we left.”
Case clutches my forearm, her eyes steely and her nails digging into my skin. Across from us, Zee folds both hands over her mouth and watches intently. All the shock has left Rion’s expression; instead, the blank mask is back, hiding anything he might be feeling. The message continues.
“—believe this unplanned assault provided a convenient distraction that enabled the secondary threat we’re facing: a coordinated attack on our servers. A new primary transmitter cannot be installed until the hacking threat has been eliminated and our digital security specialists have implemented the appropriate countermeasures.”
Dr. Herrera purses her lips. “I regret to announce that until we have the matter firmly in hand, all nonessential travel and communication to and from Earth-controlled space has been suspended. Courier ships will continue to run between colonies, but none will be sent or received at Ellis Station. Anyone attempting to approach the station or Earth will be detained.”
Asra was right. It’s true.
No couriers. No messages. We can’t tell our parents we’re alive, can’t tell the truth about what happened.
We can’t warn Earth.
My heart gives a painful throb, and I cover Case’s hand with my own. She squeezes back and scoots closer, every line of her body tense.
“We expect full communication and travel to be restored in approximately four days. This message and the attached warrants stand until newer ones are issued. Thank you.”
The headmaster’s image crossfades into a room filled with reporters and photographers crowded before a long, curved desk on a raised platform. The wall behind the desk bears the seal of the city, and the subtitles label the room as the city council chambers. There are nine seats at the desk, each filled by a city councillor representing one of Saleem’s nine wards. At a podium at the front, an umber-skinned woman gestures for silence, her sheer dupatta catching the light. The subtitles label her as Sabira Bahmani, mayor of Saleem.
Asra utterly transforms at the appearance of the
new setting; she sucks in a breath, eyes narrowed, her mouth twisting into something ugly and harsh.
“This part is new,” she spits, and glares at the screen.
The mayor folds her hands on the podium and speaks.
“By now you’ve all heard the news of the fugitives in our midst. Saleem enforcement will be fully cooperating with GCC and Academy personnel in the efforts to apprehend these four suspects,” she says. “We appreciate any help the public can give and will be offering rewards for any information that leads to an arrest. Our head of enforcement, Raheem Ahmed, will be teaming up with Captain Thomas and Tiger Squadron to lead the investigation. Junior Councillor Jace Pearson of the fifth ward has more information to share with you before we take questions.”
She steps aside, and the lone white guy on the council stands to take her place. He’s stylishly dressed and approachable in a fine gray suit, his light skin washed even paler by the podium spotlight. He takes a moment to compose himself, then speaks.
“The suspects were last seen in the company of this girl.” A picture of Asra’s face fills the screen, half hidden by her bright blue hijab. “Her current whereabouts are unknown, and we believe the suspects may have taken her hostage to act as their guide while in our city.”
The man looks away from the camera for a moment, swallows hard, then begins again. “The girl is Mazneen Haque, my stepdaughter, and as both a city councilman and her father, I beg you to call the enforcement office with any information you may have. We thank you for your cooperation and hope to have this matter resolved quickly.”
The low coffee table bangs sharply against my knees as I lurch to my feet and stumble back, away from Asra, my pulse thudding in my ears. She’s his stepdaughter. I’ve lead us straight into a trap. I’ve screwed up again. Enforcement is probably already on their way here. I back straight into Rion, who grips my shoulders and directs me forward, toward the door.
“Wait!” Asra pleads, throwing herself in our path. “I kept you from getting arrested earlier, and you’ve been with me for almost two hours already. Don’t you think I would have already called enforcement if I were going to?”
The Disasters Page 5