“They’re the only ones who can save us.”
“But they want to destroy us.”
“We’ll take the fight to them, there must be a way.” Anything else Davyd might have said is cut off by a bang from the direction of the settlement.
“Did you hear that?” I ask.
But he’s already running. “Come on.”
“But I’m supposed to be on guard.”
He spares me a glance over his broad shoulder. A look that shines through the darkness and the drizzle and slices through to my soul. “You play babysitter for some rabbits if you want to. I’m going to fight.”
I hesitate a beat. Long enough for him to disappear down the trail. This time his hurried steps send rock and gravel tumbling, and the sound echoes over distant shouts. The sound of a battle.
My longing to be alone wars with the need to know what’s happening, and the fact that no matter how much I want to, I can’t sever all links with those who came with me from the ship.
Q tight in my hand, I run.
Chapter Two
[Samuai]
I stoop to duck inside Megs’ tent but stop at the entrance. Walking her back here was one thing—it’s late, and it was only natural to fall into step beside her when we left the card games in the common room. But going inside is something else. Something I’m not sure is best for either of us.
She turns back, flicks strands of orange hair away from her green eyes, and beckons me toward her with a slow smile.
“Don’t be so shy, I’m not going to jump your bones,” she teases. But her eyes betray a heat beneath her words.
My body won’t let me forget how much I wanted this girl. Back when I was called Blank and had no memory of Fishies or Lifers. Everyone believed I was dead, and all I wanted was to know the truth. The familiar stab of regret follows along with the ever present ache in my head.
I should have known the truth would hurt more than it healed. I have memories that even now I can’t stand to dredge up. An innocent boy’s death, and the guilt over Zed’s loss, I will never escape. If I’d known what I’d find out that day, I’m not sure I’d have let the green robes probe my brain and break down the walls put in place by the Company.
Because somewhere out there in the darkness, keeping watch alone, is another girl, and my heart won’t let me forget the promises we made when life was different and our future was locked inside a starship.
Bang.
The thud shakes the ground.
Megs’ eyes widen. “What was that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing,” I reply. But neither of us believes it. The knot of dread in my gut lingers. I haven’t been able to escape it since the day I woke naked with no memory.
We head out of the tent toward the buildings that mark the social, political, and medical hub of the settlement. I scan the immediate area looking for a source of the noise—but there’s nothing out of place. Dozens of tents squat in neat rows. Paths between them are lit by solar lights, glowing dimly despite the faint drizzle in the air. The perimeter is undisturbed, and the low fence I worked on all afternoon is intact. But those who should be keeping watch at the raised platforms are missing.
Any hope the noise has a peaceful source is fast disappearing.
Another bang. Then the unmistakable tinkle of glass breaking.
“Hurry,” I say to Megs, but she is already pushing past me. Her brother is in one of those buildings, unconscious and vulnerable, thanks to the Q-coma he shows no sign of waking from.
“Be careful,” I call after her.
But it’s not the girl who’s with me I’m worrying about.
Asher’s on guard tonight.
Something cramps behind my ribs. The pastures are on the opposite side of the settlement to the city, and to the Company stronghold from which we fled. But circling around to surprise is the kind of tactic I’d think of. Which means Maston—the Company leader and my former mentor—would think of it too. If he’s leading this attack she could be vulnerable.
She might already be dead.
Like her little brother. In my brain Zed’s face, which I last saw pale and blue in a pond, becomes Asher’s. I stumble and almost fall, but catch myself in time, banishing the image. She can’t die. I won’t believe it.
Others emerge from the tents around me. Around here, they’re all green robes. Fishies—my people—inhabit the tents to the north, while Lifers dominate the south. All wear matching expressions of fear and confusion.
A child follows his mother, tiny hand wrapped around a Q, and I don’t know whether to applaud the little guy’s bravery or pick him up and carry him away to safety.
I do neither.
This is everyone’s war. If the Company has come at last, I’ll be needed in the battle.
I break into a run, easily overtaking the green robes heading toward the noise. Flames light the sky beyond the building. Voices are raised around me, but the rain and the throb in my head, an ache that won’t go away, muffles everything. So when I round the corner of the hospital, my breath harsh and blood pounding in my ears, I can almost imagine the scene before me is being played out on an oversized vid screen.
Bodies, at least a dozen, writhe in the rain. Dark silhouettes on a back drop of one of the old trucks in flames. Fists and feet fly. Someone screams. I can’t tell who, exactly, because they’re all coated in mud.
All I know is—
“They’re not Company,” says Megs as she comes to a stop at my shoulder. She doubles over, hands on her knees, panting from running.
“Nor green robes.”
I’m certain of it. Fishies and Lifers only brawl before us in a twisted dance of two people whose history has been inexorably entwined until now. Despite the pretense of freedom here, they can’t escape each other. Any illusion of us uniting against the Company disintegrates before my eyes, as a man attempts to crawl out of the pack, only to be dragged back into the fray.
A crowd has formed in the shadow of the hospital, but nobody moves to intervene. We stand, frozen. A woman’s cry splits the night. Jolted from my shock, I take a step forward.
Megs’ fingers dig into my shoulder. “Don’t.”
I shrug her off. “Someone has to.”
“Why does that someone have to be you?”
Her question follows me toward the mass of heaving bodies, and I can’t think about it because I’m afraid if I do, I’ll run. I bailed on my responsibilities once before. I’m not going to do it again.
“Stop,” I shout, arms raised. But no one reacts.
Up close, it’s harder to tell the fighters apart. I shout again, but there’s no sign they heard. Faces are muddy masks of fury with stark white eyes and bared teeth. With no other ideas, I grab at the nearest body.
“Let me go,” the woman cries.
Her nails slice into my wrist as she struggles to be free but I get a hold of her. Just. I drag her backwards, but she’s heavy and fighting to get away. All the while cursing me, this place, and the Company.
I know that voice, but I’ve never heard it raised. I angle her face toward the fire to confirm. “Inglais?” This woman was a Fishie. My Mother’s friend, and fifty years old at least. Her dress is torn and dripping mud and her long hair a black tangle. “Inglais, is that you?”
She blinks. “Samuai?”
“It’s me.”
Her eyes clear. Tears roll down plump, scratched cheeks. She stops trying to get free and says, “What have I done?”
I leave her there, collapsed in the mud, and am heading back for another when I see Davyd approaching like he owns the place. He’s carrying a long tube or pipe.
Asher is at his side, but she doesn’t seem to see me. Her attention is on the fight.
“Now,” she commands, glancing back over her shoulder.
I follow her gaze and see Keane by the old pump. The leader of the green robes moves at her order to flick the old machine to life. I�
��m reminded she isn’t a shy servant anymore.
Davyd lifts the end of the hose and braces. A second later, water sprays over the fight. No gentle trickle. A hard stream, white and frothing, stings where it falls. Those beneath it shield their faces and scatter.
In less than a minute, the area is almost clear.
Almost.
One body remains. Face down. Unmoving.
Asher is there first, dropping to her knees in the mud. “Get a doctor,” she calls. But there’s no panic or anguish in her voice. She looks up at me then, eyes wide, and I know with a cold certainty that no doctor can help the girl in the mud.
“It’s Tesae,” Asher whispers. Her calloused fingers are gentle as she brushes a lock of hair from the girl’s face.
“Dead?” I ask, though I know the answer already.
“Clearly.” It’s Davyd who answers, typical contempt in his voice. His arm goes around Asher’s shoulders in a show of comfort as he smirks my way. My fists clench, despite her shrugging him off. Only Davyd would use a dead body to taunt me.
As if seeing a girl we grew up with dead isn’t enough to put the point scoring on hold.
I get it, I want to scream, you and Asher shared something in the rebellion.
It’s not as though I haven’t thought about how close they seem to be since I returned. She avoids the topic when I bring it up, and with Megs never far away, I can’t accuse anyone of anything. I know what it’s like to be torn … but why Davyd? He’s a lunatic, and the sooner everyone notices he’s deranged and untrustworthy, the better.
I’ll show them his true character. And then we’ll see if he can still smirk.
Charley, the green robe doctor who gave me back my memories, shoves me aside to get to the body. I watch the examination. I’m soaked through, and the scratches on my wrists are lined with fine drops of blood.
“You should clean up,” Keane says.
I glance around. He’s dispersed most of the crowd, but I can’t follow them back to the tents or the common room and pretend my childhood friend isn’t lying in the mud. It’s not as though we were close, but we danced at the end of year ball together and she didn’t complain when I trod on her toes.
“Not yet.”
He doesn’t argue, instead waits on Charley’s verdict.
A minute later, she tosses her long, dark hair over her shoulder and drags herself to her feet. “She’s passed. There’s nothing we can do.”
My breath escapes my lungs in a whoosh like her words are a punch to the chest. I knew she was dead, but Charley’s confirmation makes this real. Across the other side of the body Davyd rests his arm on Asher’s shoulders. This time she doesn’t push him away.
“What happens now?” I ask Charley.
She pushes a lock of curly hair from where it’s fallen in front of her eyes. “The basement is set up as a morgue, but didn’t think we’d need to use it so soon. I’ll need to run some tests before we can bury her. Somebody among us did this. If we want to avoid another riot, we’ll need all the answers medicine can provide.”
With Davyd’s help, I lift Tesae onto a makeshift stretcher, and we walk toward the hospital building, leaving Asher behind. Part of me registers the unnatural heaviness of the lifeless body, the cold of her skin, the odd angle of her neck. Sticky, dripping mud flows from her and over my hands, and I imagine it carries the stench of death already.
“Darling boy, you’re okay.” Mother’s voice makes the heads of the few people remaining turn in our direction. She barrels over the ground, worry etched onto her heavily made-up features. Ignoring Davyd, she latches onto my arm. “I heard there was an accident, and I was terrified I would lose my boy again.” She breaks off into dramatic sobs, one hand flung across her forehead.
“I’m fine, Mother.”
“Me too,” chirps Davyd from the other side of the stretcher.
She doesn’t seem to register him speaking. Was she always so cruel to him, or did thinking she lost me change her?
“I’m fine, Mother,” I repeat.
She straightens, her gaze fixed on the dying flames of the truck. “Why are you here if you weren’t involved? It’s dangerous, anything might have happened.”
“Someone needed to help.”
She finally glances at the stretcher and blanches. “Surely, this is a job for one of them.”
I’m not sure whether she’s talking about Lifers or green robes. I suspect she continues to believe both are beneath her. Even though she’s off the ship, her lifetime of privilege is hard to erase.
“I want to help,” I say eventually. She won’t understand my guilt over everything that’s happened. And it’s not a conversation I want to have with Davyd only a couple of feet away.
Davyd tugs at his side of the stretcher, forcing me to keep moving or drop the body.
“I’ll talk to you later,” I promise Mother.
Her nose crinkles. “Yes, do come for tea tomorrow and bring darling Asher. Make sure you shower first.”
Tea? Does she realize I’m carrying a dead person?
She hurries away before I can respond. Which is probably a good thing because telling her what I’d like her to do with her tea party is probably something I’d regret. It’s hard to be cross with her when she’s so happy I’m alive.
Tesae’s body grows heavier with every step. Twice I fear the makeshift stretcher will slip from my fingers. The thought of her suffering that last indignity keeps my numb hands on the wooden poles.
She’s dead. At the hands of someone in camp.
Again, I see the mass of bodies in my head. It was too dark and too muddy to determine who was in there. She could have been dead at the bottom of the scrum for minutes, and the killer might have fled before we arrived.
Everyone’s already on edge. Though, if we don’t find a culprit, this won’t be the last fight.
We follow Charley’s instructions through the waiting room and the clinic. All the while I try to pretend I wasn’t here a few days ago. Finally, we carry the stretcher down some stairs behind an unmarked door. The temperature seems to fall with every step, and Charley must notice the way I pull my elbows into my sides for warmth.
“We need it refrigerated to prevent decay,” she explains.
I suppress a shudder. The air’s clean and fresh down here and smells faintly of disinfectant but again my mind conjures the stench of rotting flesh. Davyd seems unaffected. Probably because he has no feelings.
We place Tesae on a metal bench and, under Charley’s order, disinfect our hands at the nearby sink. Davyd flicks me with the water, but I ignore him.
Keane is waiting for us at the top of the steps. His gaze swings from Davyd to me. “Tomorrow afternoon the council will meet. Make sure anyone who needs to be there is informed.” He settles on me. “The Lifers will need to be represented.”
“I’ll tell Asher,” Davyd volunteers.
I was about to say the same thing. Something they both knew, but I’m not going to have a tantrum over him being a messenger. I shrug.
Keane turns to walk away.
“Why the afternoon?” I ask. “Surely this is urgent.”
Keane’s sigh is heavy. “In the morning, we bury our dead. A simple memorial, I think, given the different traditions of those in camp. Her parents or a friend might like to say a few words.”
Her parents? I hadn’t thought of them. She was a spoiled only child, and they’ll be devastated. I know how much my disappearance hurt Mother.
I can’t help their daughter, but there is one thing I can do for them. I roll my shoulders, already aching from the night’s events and inject a challenge into my voice, turning to my bother. “Those muscles of yours might look pretty, but can they heft a shovel?”
“Better than you Little Boy Lost.”
“The name’s Samuai.”
“You have so many, it’s hard to remember. Okay Samuai, let’s dig ourselves a hole.”
&n
bsp; ***
Two hours later I head back toward the medical clinic, looking for Charley.
The scratches I received dragging Mother’s friend from the fight are deeper than I thought. I don’t mind the pain, but the gaping flesh near my elbow keeps catching. I know it won’t take long to heal if I can get a few stitches.
I avoid the nurse treating others injured in the night’s events and look for Charley. She’ll understand why I don’t want any kind of painkiller. She knows my feelings on anything that might affect my mind.
Inside the building, away from the clinic, there’s no one around.
I peer through the frosted doors of the operating theater. There’s no movement, only the immobile shapes of machines and a single vacant bed. It’s empty, I’m certain of it, yet Charley must be here somewhere.
In my head, I’m back in the control room of the spaceship the night I followed Maston and decided to leave. That night I discovered Earth on the other side of the door and nearly lost myself.
This time, I’m wary. I don’t call Charley’s name, telling myself I don’t want to disturb her. I push open the door. I’ve never been in here before, and my gaze is drawn to a door across the room. Shelving stands out from the wall as though recently moved. Was it previously concealed?
I’m across the room before I can think better of it. Wanting to know what’s on the other side of a closed door has always been my problem.
I open it into a long hallway. So many rooms here. I hadn’t really thought about it, but with an image of the building from the outside fixed in my brain, the space here makes sense. The first room I come to is dark. It takes a moment, but my eyes adjust thanks to the faint light creeping through tiny, high windows. Shelves line every wall, and each is packed to bursting with files. Paper. Impossible to hack, but it would have taken an organized effort to get it here without anyone seeing. Maybe it’s a remnant of the building’s last owners.
But my gut doesn’t believe it. There’s no dust, no decay, no musty scent of the past.
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