Departure

by May Dawney

  Mara was outside the ship, and surrounded by hulking, armor plated Auent mechbots. Mara had drawn them past the massive metal strut that anchored the ship to the ground in this quadrant, which meant the path to it was clear.

  Dropped K9’s and native mechs littered the ground in front of the gate.

  The gate. It was open!

  In all her life, Kari had never seen the six-man high slabs of metal parted in any way, shape, or form. Even the meager supplies they got were air dropped in by drone.

  The EMP blasts Mara must have rained down on the bots had most likely short-circuited some tiny print plate somewhere deep in the mechanism and the result was so overwhelming to behold that for a moment, Kari forgot everything around her as she tried to wrap her head around it.

  “Kari, run!”

  Her attention was pulled back to Mara, who had somehow managed to down one of the giants with nothing but a lead pipe and the plasma gun she was so famous for.

  “What are you doing?” She knew Mara couldn’t hear her across the distance, and that her shout would probably make Mara’s ears ring through the implant, but she couldn’t help herself. Seeing her here, where Mara shouldn’t be, was impossible to wrap her head around.

  “Saving the ship!” Mara thrust out her free arm and the plasma gun fired out a shot of magnesium fire pilfered from a mechbot at an earlier date. It tore straight through the hip joint of one of its brethren and its leg went out from under it.

  A small earthquake accompanied its fall.

  Kari ran.

  “Bag. Base. New timer.” Mara smashed in the mechbot’s vision sensor, then ran away from the strut, deeper into the Zone.

  The remaining bots followed.

  Mara’s hurried words spurred Kari on. The hope they represented gave her wings. If she could rig the timer into the bomb, she wouldn’t have to set it off manually. She wouldn’t have to die.

  While she pulled herself crossed the square, Kari pressed the transmitter button. “Go back to the airlock! Go back in!”

  No reply.

  Kari spotted the promised bag at the base of the ladder and grabbed it with one hand while she gripped a rung with the other.

  Icy cold coursed up her arm even through her glove.

  She flung the strap of the bag over her head and pushed her arm through the hole to secure it along her side, then she reached for the next metal bar within reach and pulled herself up. Every space was three times the size of a human sized ladder, but she managed; she’d practiced the best way to go up for weeks.

  The Aurora towered over her, big enough to house hundreds. It hadn’t been built for that many, but they’d tried to do the math. They could fit; the Aurora could take off.

  She could only guess at the reasons of the Auent to raise the Aurora’s nose up to the stars but lock it into four metal clamps to keep it from take-off, but she had always assumed it was just another taunt—another way to remind them of the freedom they were denied.

  The wind hit her with force as she cleared the height of the Wall. For a handful of terrifying seconds, she just had one handhold and a body ready to tip off the side of the cement pillar. Then she found the strength to swing herself into the wind and flatten herself to the ladder that went up the skyscraper-sized strut.

  Her knees threatened to buckle, but she couldn’t linger. She kept herself as flat as she could and kept her gaze on the next rung, and the next rung only.

  Wind gripped at her hair, at her armor, at her bags. Every step up became a fight, but she managed. She lost feeling in her hands after the fiftieth-or-so grip. They seemed to have frozen into claws just big enough to wrap around a metal bar. She managed that too. What she was struggling with was the knowledge that Mara was outside of the ship.

  Mara. Her stomach churned. Why had she left? They had one shot at this escape. Kari had received the honor—that’s what Command had called it—to be part of a demolition team. An honor, because it would give the rest a chance to go home.

  Home.

  The word ignited a longing in her chest that allowed her to push through the pain and cold for another handhold, and a third.

  Home. Back to Earth.

  Mara would get to leave and be happy, if they let her back in. Why had she come out in the first place? Kari would have found a way around the bots and ignite the bomb. That was her mission, and she was a soldier in the resistance. Mara didn’t have to come out and risk her life for her.

  Was that what she’d done? Protect Kari?

  The bag that bounced against her leg with a new timer in it showed she cared.

  Kari pressed her lips together. She couldn’t deal with the idea that Mara might care about her after all. Not now.

  She chanced a glance down in the hopes of spotting Mara—or perhaps in the hopes of not spotting her—but vertigo stole her vision. Kari wrapped an arm around the rung above her head and held on until it settled.

  A loud bang tore through the ship and sent a tremor through the strut. It almost shook her off. Once more, she was forced to wrap herself around a bar and hold on for dear life.

  Realization filtered in. One of the teams had set off the bomb and judging by the noise of impact, and a milder impact right after, they’d succeeded in undoing the clamp.

  Panic urged her on long before the impact tremor stopped making the strut sing. If one of the other teams went off-script and blew their device as well, the ship could tip over and humanity’s chance to take-off was gone. The team’s situation must have been very dire indeed to blow the bomb without warning. If they’d encountered half the resistance she’d had, she couldn’t blame them.

  Through sheer force of will, she made it up the ladder and secured herself to the top step with two carabines attached to the harness embedded in her inherited armor. This way, she had her hands free, and if the wind got a grip, she wouldn’t get blown off. She’d have a long time to see her death coming if she fell. The thought made her shudder.

  Kari shook her hands and massaged a spark of life back into her fingers before she dared to open the bag Mara had left for her.

  The timer was nothing more than a battery, a timer, and two wires. The idea was simple: wire the timer in, hit the switch, get the hell down. There wasn’t a display, so Kari couldn’t see how long she’d have.

  Command wouldn’t have given her much time, but hopefully long enough to find shelter.

  She secured her footing on the rung before she pulled her backpack off with the uttermost care. If the wind got a hold and sent her payload flying, the people inside the Aurora would die.

  It was so odd to be so close to the hull of the ship. Somewhere on the other side, entire families waited to learn their fate. They were waiting for her to set them free. She had to set them free, and she could not afford to drop the bag.

  The bomb was packaged in a lunchbox-sized black box with a strong magnet on one end. She made sure it didn’t touch the iron rung, because she wasn’t sure it would come off again. Four clips kept the lid of the bomb in place. She undid them inside the bag, which she dangled off one shoulder.

  Another gust of wind upset her balance, but she trusted the carabines and the building prowess of their captors to keep her upright. The rung held her weight, and her harness as well.

  Kari released a shaky breath and shook the tension out of her hands before she took the lid off the box and inspected the inside.

  She had spent hours memorizing the schematics, and if she’d been home or in Mara’s hut, she’d have been able to wire the timer into the bomb in seconds. Up this high, with this much panic coursing through her veins, and so much pressure on her shoulders, it was a lot harder. The wind didn’t help either.

  After a painfully long minute or so, she decided she was done. There was no beep or light to warn her—there probably hadn’t been time to modify the timer to include one—so she just had to risk it.

  The second she allowed herself a breath of relief, another bomb went off. It reverberated throu
gh the ship, through the strut, and she felt the rung roll out from under her. The front of her thighs impacted with that rung and a new surge of pain and panic spurned her on to scramble up.

  The bag with the bomb slid down to her arm and she hurried to grab at it. She managed to catch it, but only just. It dangled from the tips of her fingers and below—far, far below—was the ground. The mechbots had been reduced to tiny toy soldiers.

  Vertigo threatened to sap the strength from her muscles, but she managed to turn her head away, and she pulled the backpack back up and against her chest. She pulled herself back up. Her heart pounded inside her throat.

  Then, her receiver engaged and static flooded her ear. “Kari?”

  Again, her muscles threatened to give out. She dared to let go of the strut and pressed her fingers against her neck. “Mari, did you make it back inside.”

  “I can’t. You know I can’t. The doors are closed.” Her voice was firm, but Kari could hear the slight tremble. Perhaps realization had just kicked in. “It’s worth it.”

  “Worth it?” Tears welled up. It wasn’t worth it—it couldn’t be worth it. Mara should be inside of the ship. She was a Colonel, they should make an exception. She wanted to tell her all of that, but instead, she let go of the button in her neck, so she could click the box shut and secured the clamps. They were running out of time.

  There was a pause. “I had to make sure you stayed alive.”

  “You’re insane. There must be a way to get back in.” But there wasn’t; the ship had been sealed the moment the demolition teams had gone out. How Mara had managed to leave in the first place was beyond her. She must have pulled rank or called in every favor she’d had.

  Then she realized what Mara had said about her reasons for leaving—not to complete the mission, but to keep Kari alive.

  She stuck the bomb to the clamp while she got her heartrate under control.

  “I can’t get back in.” Pause. “Kari?”

  Kari swallowed. She stared up at the box. The second she hit the switch, her life could end. Anything could go wrong. She could be too slow. If she died, Mara would be alone. Everyone would die but her.

  She was hundreds of feet up in the air, with the wind hell-bent on blowing her off. The display on the thrown-together timer that hung out of the box read three minutes until detonation, which would start counting down the second she flipped the switch. The odds that she would get a chance to tell her ex-lover face-to-face how conflicted she was over her decision, how guilt-ridden, how absolutely ecstatic, were slim.

  She unclipped the carabines.

  With the bravery of the desperate, she gripped the bar with one hand and brought her other to the back of her neck. “I’m here.” With that, she let go of the transmitter button and reached up to flip the switch.

  A light blinked on, then off, then back on. The timer had worked. The bomb was live, and she was entirely too close.

  “I-I love you too, Kari. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

  Mara’s voice was a caress against Kari’s ear. She allowed the backpack to fall down. It swayed in the wind and would end up somewhere behind the Wall where an Auent child would undoubtedly find it in the morning.

  Her gaze slid over the outstretched city for a second, not long enough to take in detail. As she started her mad scramble down the steps, something nagged at her—something she couldn’t place.

  Another bomb went off and for a second, she thought the timer had failed. A quick look up into the dark revealed the glowing lettering of the bomb. It wasn’t hers, it was the third clamp.

  Her strut groaned. It was the only thing holding up the Aurora now, and judging by the agonizing creaking, it wouldn’t be able to do so for much longer.

  She didn’t have time to respond to the message that watered her eyes and set her insides ablaze, she only had time to hurry down at the fastest pace she could.

  A rumble started up in the belly of the Aurora; a buzz that turned into a roar. Systems and mechanisms that hadn’t been used in decades, but which had been meticulously maintained, came to life.

  The night lit up as the engines flared and spit out fire.

  Within a minute, she came down to a level where she could feel the heat. She counted the seconds, but every bit of painful pressure on her ankle, every near-slip, every small sound that could be a herald of her destruction caused her to lose track.

  Maybe she had a minute, maybe thirty seconds, maybe she had just a second and she didn’t know.

  “Please hurry.” Mara whispered plea wrapped around her heart and chased away some of the fear that had gathered there.

  She doubled her efforts, ignored the pain in her ankle and thighs, and fought the cold that turned her hands numb again.

  The strut was the sole thing between her and the blazing fire of the engines. It was thick and it kept most of the heat away, but she still had to squeeze her eyes to slits so she could look down and not feel like her eyes would wither like raisins.

  She was closer to the ground than she had expected and waiting for her was a figure in red, with her flaming red hair weaving. Mara raised her arms.

  Kari’s heart fluttered and she slid down the last few steps, straight into Mara’s arms. She turned and kissed her, hard and quick. “I love you.” Another kiss. “You’re insane.”

  Mara’s arms came up around her and pulled her against her. “We don’t have time.” The breathless whisper coursed along her lips.

  “I know.” Kari stole another kiss before she cupped Maria’s soft cheeks and stared into the green of her eyes. “You came for me.”

  Mara took a hold of her wrists. “I’m so sorry I let you go in the first place. It thought it would be easier. Then you said you had to manually—”

  Kari kissed her again and it was better than the oxygen the engine sucked out of the air. “I know. You’re insane. Now come.” She grabbed Mara’s hand and tugged her away from the danger zone.

  Above their heads, the bomb went off.

  Kari yanked Mara aside, clear of the debris that fell as the docking clamp disintegrated in the blast. She stumbled when her ankle buckled.

  Mara wrapped a strong arm around her waist. “I’ve got you.” Her military tone was back.

  “Where?”

  “Through the gate.” Mara grinned at her with a wild abandon that sent Kari’s insides fluttering. “The doors are open, so why not? It’ll be the last place the Auent will expect us—right in their midst.”

  “Okay.” Kari heard herself agree before she realized her mouth was open. “Why not?” She directed her gaze to the gate. The doors were still open and to her surprise, no mechbots or Auent awaited them.

  The secondary engines of the Aurora blasted fire and smoke into the limited space between the rooftops and its engines. The heat washed over them.

  Mara glanced back. “Go. Go!” She hurried her onward, away from the blaze, away from the Aurora and their people. “Run!”

  Kari ran as fast as she could. She glanced back every once in a while, but never for long.

  The doors were as thick as Kari’s outstretched arms. She could touch one side with one hand, and the other side with the other hand, as she pushed through the crack.

  Mari followed her through, then pushed her along the metal to the back of the Wall. It was pitch dark here; the glow only hit the structures far beyond their field of vision. “W-What are you doing?”

  “We’re safest here. The Wall will shelter us from the blast.” She helped Kari down to the ground and settled her with her back against the wall. It was ice cold—which proved Mara’s point that they were safe here. Mara sank down to her knees and ran her hand over Kari’s leg. “Where are you hurt?”

  “My ankle. It’s fine.” She forced herself to smile.

  The roar behind the wall increased to the point where they had to shout to be heard. The ground vibrated with the violence of the launch.

  Kari craned her neck, but the wall hid everything but a
glow.

  Mara scooted back across the street. “It’s going.” Her surprise was evident both on her tone and face. “Oh God, she’s actually going up.” She helped Kari scoot forward to watch a bright spot shoot up the sky, followed by a thick tail of smoke.

  The sight left Kari’s insides in limbo. She watched breathless as the spot got smaller and smaller and the reality of their success sunk in. With that realization came the deep and painful reality that she would die on Radan. All of her life she—like all Radan-born—had dreamt of taking to the stars, and now she was dirt-bound forever.

  Mara took her hand and squeezed. Her gaze was still locked on the ship and her eyes were moist. “We did it.” Her voice was raspy.

  Silence settled as the roar of the engine washed out. It was heavier than ever, as if there would never be noise again—or at least not as profound.

  “We did.” Kari squeezed the hand in hers. “We should find somewhere to hide. The Auent—”

  “I know.” It still took Mara several seconds to tear her gaze away. Tears ran down her cheeks.

  It was so out of character for Mara to show emotion that Kari felt herself falling in love with her all over again.

  “I can’t believe it worked.”

  Kari smiled, but her heart pounded against her ribs. “Regrets?”

  “A million.” Mara shook her head. “But none about you.”

  “Oh.” Kari felt a sting as blood rushed to her cheeks. “Good.” She was still conflicted, still guilt-ridden, and as ridiculous as it was, something inside her brain still wanted her to scream at Mara to get aboard the ship. It would take a while to realize that she wouldn’t be alone.

  Alone. It had never been the plan to be alone.

  “The other demo-teams. Did they make it?”

  Mara shook her head. “The mechbots, the climb, or the bombs got them.”

  Sorrow and panic squeezed her throat shut. If Mara hadn’t gone back out, Kari would have been the sole human on Radan. Now, they were the only two.